


Visage

by Morse_s Child (sherlockstummy)



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Multi, it's okay only morse is dead, nobody else dies, oh and val is dead too, ot3: sandwich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 30,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Morse_s%20Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day of Val's funeral, Morse returns to Lewis. But what he has to say turns into one of the most dangerous cases in Lewis' time, and could be crucial in changing Lewis' life forever. Inspired by athena_crikey's "Effigy" and "Phoenix."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it all began...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prologue was originally published after chapter 14. I apologize if some of the suspense is erased for those who have been reading faithfully along.

Morse had been dead for some time, and he’d had the time to get used to it. He’d managed to build his own space in the world of the dead and had learned to flex his spiritual muscles. 

So it was that one, well, moment, because of the way the spirit world worked, while Morse was busy filling out a crossword he’d set for himself, he heard a woman crying. Naturally, this made him look up, and, soon after, toss his newspaper aside and stand.

“Mrs. Lewis? Val?” Morse stepped over to her and gently rested a hand on her shoulder. Her emotions pulsed through her; shock, fear, desperateness, loneliness, heartbreak.

The ghost hid her face in her hands. Morse noted that she had lots of dark bruising around what little he could see of her midsection, she was favoring one side, and a cut in her head looked like it would have bled quite a lot. Morse turned his eyes from the blood and back to her face. She was still crying. “Val,” Morse said gently, placing both hands on her shoulders. He was lucky that Val was more tolerant of, well…aggressive chivalry. “What’s happened? What’s the matter?”

“It…it just…happened!” Val sobbed. “I didn’t see it…oh, Morse,” she looked miserably into the other ghost’s eyes. “We’ve failed him. We’ve failed Robbie. He’s all alone now.” With that, she buried her face in his lapels.

Morse held her tightly, affording her the same safe place he always felt he had been for the fair sex, whatever his shortcomings. “There, there,” he said, perhaps tritely, “none of us can help dying.”

Val sniffled. “I’m…I’m so worried for him. What with Christmas right round…and the kids are all grown with their own lives now.” She pulled away from Morse, dashing away towards his far wall, back from where she came, probably. 

Disoriented. Morse had seen it before. Ghosts of those who had died tragically were often desperate to return to their bodies, to their lives and loved ones. He dashed after her and caught her arm. The emotions flooded back into him: desperateness, fear, despair. She was murmuring her husband’s name over and over, making tears stream down her ghostly cheeks, and damn if that tone of voice wasn’t an emotion in and of itself. Protection. She wanted to keep Robbie safe.

“Come, my dear,” Morse said gently. He had never been the first to jump to the aid of the disoriented, though he had seen other spirits do it. They could be loved ones or strangers, but every spirit helped each other. Morse wished desperately the living world could be more like the dead. Perhaps it had to do with the equality of death.

At any rate, Val needed him, needed a familiar face, and he would not deny her that, make her seek solace from a stranger.

“Come and have some tea, and I’ll teach you how to repair your visage.”

Val started and turned towards Morse. Once, Morse was sure, she had been rather fetching, but her features had grown plain with age. Morse scolded himself for thinking such, and vowed to care for Lewis’ wife as long as she needed him. “My…my what?”

“The way you appear to other ghosts and to psychics, my dear.”

“I saw him…” Val’s eyes were blank, distant. “Saw him just briefly…wasn’t strong enough to stay, it was pulling me. I wanted to…to say goodbye. To apologize. Robbie was right; the house looked fine. All for some damn curtains…”

Morse stopped himself from being surprised at Val’s curse. He should’ve known by now to not expect the modern woman to be so, as a female constable had accused him of thinking, cuddly. This was something they both had in common. “How is Lewis doing?” Morse asked. “You must tell me.” He let go of her and offered his arm instead.

Val hesitated, and then took it. “I’m scared for him.” She told him. “He’s never had to handle the job on his own. He doesn’t let on what bothers him, but without someone to anticipate the need…”

“You and Lewis raised two lovely children,” Morse reassured her. “I’m certain they will come once they hear the news. And Robbie is so well-liked. He won’t be alone.”

Val chuckled. “You rubbed off on him, Morse. He’s become a lot less sociable in the past few years.”

“Oh?” Morse could feel Val starting to adjust to the idea that she was dead. It would be hard, of course, but Morse was not distant from his few loved friends in the afterlife. They could check on Robbie together, once Val was feeling better.

Morse bade Val sit in his chair and made tea. It was all an illusion, but one which was all too real to any ghost willing to believe. Val clearly accepted it.

Once tea was made, Morse strode to his desk and fetched a hand mirror from its surface littered, as it had been in life, with opera tickets, newspapers, theatre booklets, napkins, and other assorted detritus. The mirror was gilded silver, the talon of some great bird resting at its base. It was perfectly clean and quite beautiful. Morse had made it for himself once he’d learned how, a copy of an exhibit he’d seen once upon a time in Venice.

“Here, my dear,” Morse handed it to Val. “Take it, and have a look at yourself.”

Val obeyed, eyes wide. They became even wider once she saw herself. “Oh, dear Lord,” she gasped. “I look like a corpse!”

Morse politely refrained from stating the obvious. “Try to concentrate on how you look. Well, how you want to look, at any rate. That will get rid of that…corpse-like appearance.”

“Can I make myself younger?” Val asked.

Morse was amused by that. “If you wish.” He watched Val change her face. Indeed, she had made herself younger, but only slightly. Morse could imagine she might’ve been forty or even fifty. “You can do the same for your body.”

Val stood. “Oh.” She realized. “That’s right, I’d forgotten. You’re a bit funny about blood.”

“Ah, I’ve learned to…look politely elsewhere,” Morse explained shyly, clearing his throat.

Val smiled and repaired her body. She looked much more put-together, though her form did not look familiar to Morse. Well, she’d been much younger when he knew her, and then he hadn’t known her very well.

Morse was smiling, but he was beginning to feel…off. The world around him seemed to change its air, a dangerous tinge in the air. “Feeling better?”

Val nodded. “Yes.” She looked around her. “Did you make all this?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It’s very cozy.”

“Thank you.”

Silence. Val looked away shyly.

“You can stay with me, if you like.” Morse offered kindly.

“Only if you don’t mind,” Val protested insistently. 

“Not at all. I’m happy to help.” Only for Lewis’ sake, however. He was aware of the headaches of living with a woman, even though once in his life, he’d been prepared to put up with it all… But that was a very long time ago, as far away as another lifetime, almost.  
So it was that Morse shared his spiritual space with Valerie Lewis. It wasn’t nearly as intrusive as he thought. He let her play with changing the colors of the walls and let her rearrange the décor, provided she didn’t touch his records or turntable, and even let her replace the curtains, which she seemed obsessed with; for good reason, as it had been what brought her to London in the first place.

Morse had gotten very little about her death out of her. She wasn’t quite as relaxed about it as he was about his, which he couldn’t blame her for. To be ripped suddenly and unexpectedly from life…he shuddered to think of it. At least he had passed slowly and easily into the afterlife. Val had had it much harder.

Christmastime, she finally broke down and told him all that she remembered. The hit and run, her last hours as she bled out on the pavement, watching the car pull away quick as you like, her disorientation as a ghost, watching the swarm around her body, the sirens of the ambulance that came too late, Robbie seeing her, hearing the news and crying. Crying alone, in the loo, for the second time in his life, according to Val.

“When was the first?” Morse passed her a warm cocoa topped with plenty of marshmallows. He’d learned her preferences and for once in his life was not ashamed to be playing good host. 

“When you died.” Val sipped at the cocoa. “He was in such a state, such a bad way. I couldn’t get him to do anything…he was shut off for a good couple weeks, until the inspector’s exams. I told him, “Morse would want you to get up and take those exams. Do right by him.” And that finally made him get out of his funk. But he wasn’t the same.” She stared introspectively at the fire.

“Oh.” Morse was genuinely surprised.

Val looked at him strangely. “He admired you. Even when he came home bitter about something you’d said or done, next hour he’d be on about something you’d said. He looked up to you. You were his mentor. Don’t you believe that?”

Morse swirled his dark ale. “Does it matter what I believe?”

“It matters to me.”

Morse looked up and studied Val carefully in the firelight. Fairy lights and greenery rested on the mantle, all her doing. It was…nice. Homey. Everything smelled like cider and cinnamon. He smiled. “He’s clever. So unexpectedly bright. And we got along like clockwork. He had so many ideas, and I had to let him follow them. I was blind when we first started working together. I was never good at keeping a sergeant. But he put up with me, and I would’ve gone to any length to protect him. I like to think that I did.”

Val nodded. “I think so.”

They both watched the fire crackle.

“I want to give you a present.”

Morse shifted to face her. “Yes?”

“He once told me…” Val wipes a tear from her eye, “that you were the best there ever was, and ever would be. I think…” She folded her hands around her mug. “I…think he loved you.”

“He loves you very much, Val. Even now, it’s not me he’s mourning.”

“I know, but…” Val drank from her mug, “I think he did. That’s all. Whatever kind of love it was, I know he did.”

Morse smiles into his drink. “Thank you, Val. That means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome, Morse.” Val whisked away her drink in a flash of air. “I’m going to get some rest. Goodnight.” She bent to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight.” Morse smiled as she left and crossed his legs before the crackling logs.

The feeling of dread still would not abate.

The next thing he knew, Val was gone.

And a grave warning was left behind.

“They are coming. The Shadows are coming. Protect him, please, Morse. Val”


	2. Chapter the First

Val was buried today.

Lewis had seen her ghost the day she died. She looked scared and sad. And that’s when he knew that he had to take off, get away, because Val was dead.

Oh, God. He still didn’t know how to explain it to the kids. Sure, they were older, but only by a bit. Still too young to lose their mum. But, then, you’re never ready to lose your mum, are you?

It was while he was standing at the grave, though, that a voice came to him; a voice he’d never been happier to hear.

“I’m so sorry, Lewis.” There was a cold spot on his shoulder, as if someone had dropped an ice lolly on his jacket. But it warmed his heart, anyway. “I could’ve been here for you. I could’ve lived. But I gave up instead, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, sir,” Lewis said quietly, so that no one would hear him. He wasn’t worried about being caught talking to ghosts, but right now, he wasn’t talking to Val. “You’re here now. And from what I heard, you didn’t have the chance to crawl back into life. You were gone.”

Morse sighed. “No, you’re right. But if I’d taken better care…oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m getting melancholy.” The pressure left Lewis’ shoulder. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Sir,” Lewis said, not turning from the grave even though he could feel Morse leaving. “Why didn’t you ever come to me before now? I’ve missed you.”

Morse appeared in front of him. It wasn’t quick; more like a small fade-in, like a fancy effect in a picture. Mist seemed to wisp around his white hair. Lewis was so glad to see Morse in one of his suits with a tie on, looking more like himself, if a little thinner. The drawn face showed the illness he’d suffered in the days leading up to his death, but the blue eyes still held the same spark that Lewis loved about his guv. “I know, Lewis, and I’m sorry about that. I’ve enjoyed hearing you talk to me, but the truth of the matter is that I’ve had…quite the busy afterlife.” Morse pursed his lips. 

“What do you mean by that?” Lewis asked, pocketing his hands and staring straight at his guv, damn the passersby.

“Catching up.” Morse replied. “I had two sirs of my own who died long before you could meet them. And you heard about Strange recently.”

“Yeah. Shame, that.”

“Oh, not really. He’s glad for a rest. They’ll have someone new.” Morse pocketed his hands. Lewis could tell something was worrying Morse; he kept glancing around, fidgeting.

“Sir, you were never very pally with anyone. What’s really going on?”

“I…” Morse seemed to make a decision, but then thought better of that and made another. “I’m not sure yet. I keep getting the feeling that something’s off, but.” He shrugs self-deprecatingly. “I’m an empath, so I always feel everything more intensely…it could be nothing.” From his tone, Morse sounded like he hoped it was nothing.

Lewis frowned. “Hang on a minute. You were an empath, and you never told me?”

“I couldn’t predict how you’d react. I’ve had whole theories discredited because of my status before. I could’ve lost cases because of it! No, no one could know.” The ghost shakes his head, fizzling. Lewis has learned to take that as a bad sign.

“Easy, now, sir. Deep breaths?” He smiles wryly despite himself; ghosts can’t breathe, or, at least, it won’t really help them much.

Morse does breathe, smiling slightly. “You’re lucky I appreciate your irony. Other ghosts are not as kind.”

“As I should know.” Lewis hesitated, and then changed his stance. “Wait a minute. So you _knew_ I could see ghosts?”

“I didn’t, but I guessed. And it was a good guess, too. No, I sensed you seemed…unduly distressed at crime scenes. You would transform from overly chipper to dour in minutes. It worried me, until I made some deductions. It’s very valuable to have psychic ability, Lewis. It’s an ancient art, and we are losing it to newfangled magic.”

“Right.” Lewis’ tone indicated that Morse had lost him. “So, what’s this thing you’re not sure about, then?”

“If it’s true,” Morse said, resting a hand on Lewis’ shoulder, “then it’s dangerous. And it could mean danger for free-roaming spirits and the ghosts of the newly-departed, who are vulnerable. I have to know more…” Morse turned, looking behind him at something Lewis couldn’t see. He looked disturbed, or about to be sick. Maybe both.

“Sir?”

“I’m fairly cemented now, so if you need me, play that Wagner record I left you, or leave some ale around. I’ll come if I can-this world is so dodgy.” But Morse hadn’t stopped looking behind him. “I have to go, Lewis.” And then, just like that, he was gone.

Lewis had seen fear in Morse’s eyes, and he didn’t like that. But he didn’t have time to ponder his mentor’s words, for soon he was on station in Spain, and then bringing along a sergeant all his own. And that rather complicated things.

It wasn’t until Lewis played the Wagner that it happened.


	3. Chapter the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lewis accidentally summons Morse and learns that his mentor's bad feeling has morphed into a real problem.

It was after a long, tiring case that Lewis came home to his empty flat and accidentally became a catalyst. 

He was tired and hungry and in need of a beer, so, without thinking, he put on the Wagner record Morse had left him, hoping the classical music would calm him down, just as it always had back when he was Morse’s sergeant. As he uncorked a beer and made himself a sandwich, he thought about his new sergeant. Hathaway-James-was a good man. Reminded him of his mentor in some ways. But James was a different man, more likeable than Morse, and far more melancholy.

Lewis nearly jumped when he turned around to find Morse sitting on his sofa, slumped forward with his face hidden in his hands. The outline around his form looked like it was breaking away, trying to tear at Morse’s very being, and Lewis could see the ghost shaking, even though ghosts were oblivious of temperature. “Sir?”

Morse looked up, eyes wild. “You summoned me. Why? Tell me why!” His pupils dashed across his irises as he surged to his feet, looking around. Lewis stood still with his hands up, the beer in his hand. He trusted his mentor not to hurt him, but ghosts could be quite volatile with very little effort. The microwave pinged, heating up Lewis’ coffee, but neither being made a move. 

Morse seemed to relax as the Wagner record went on to the second track, and as he relaxed, his form became more stable. He looked more like himself again; Lewis noticed that the illness was gone from his face, and he looked more his podgy self. He turned steely blue eyes to look at Lewis, and the sparkle, the soft fondness, was back. Lewis relaxed in return, smiling. “Hey, sir. You gave me quite a scare!”

Morse sat back down on the sofa. “I’m sorry, Lewis. I’ll explain in a minute.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “I am tired…” He murmured, almost as if he didn’t want Lewis to hear him.

“Sir? I thought ghosts couldn’t get tired.”

“They can, if they’ve been pursued.”

“Chased?” Lewis sat beside Morse with his sandwich and beer. “Chased by who?”

“By whom, Lewis.” 

They both smiled at the momentary light-hearted memory.

“I have been chased, relentlessly for the past few…” Morse frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose in human time, it has been years. It began, I believe, around the time you went to Spain.”

“Someone must really want to catch up with you!” Lewis joked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Yes, and if they catch me…” Morse shuddered; Lewis had never seen his mentor so scared, not since he’d found out Morse was afraid of heights. Even then, this paled in comparison. “If they catch me…I will cease to exist.”

“Sir?” Lewis asked. Their conversation from years ago came flooding back to him. “Your bad feeling.”

“I’m afraid it’s not a feeling anymore.” Morse said. “Pour me a little something, and I will tell you.”

Lewis went to get a glass and poured a swallow of whiskey into it. Then, he set it before his mentor. Questions about the lack of place to put the whiskey weren’t important right now.

Morse touched the glass and seemed to pull a copy of it into his world. He swallowed what was in it, and then put down the ghost glass inside the real one. Lewis pulled his knee up to eat his sandwich while he listened. Morse cleared his throat and began.


	4. Chapter the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse tells everything he knows.

“First of all, you must know that Val is doing fine. In fact, she is far away from all of this, where nothing can harm her or her spirit. Unfortunately, though, once spirits go where she has gone, they become stagnant; she cannot visit you.”

Lewis nodded. “As long as Val’s okay. So, what’s been chasing you, then?”

“I had first heard it from Val,” Morse said, settling in to tell his tale. “She went into the light, but left me a message, telling me that the Shadows were coming, and that I had to keep them from effecting the living. I have spent many days in the great Library of the Dead and have discovered much. Unfortunately, as I have been learning, so have the Shadows.”

“What are the Shadows?”

“They are nameless, faceless beings who seek to devour souls, Lewis. They feed upon free-roaming ghosts like myself, taking their memories, feelings, and identities away until they are nothing but a shell. In fact, it was quite fortuitous that you summoned me when you did; I could feel they were close behind me.”

“That explains why you were disoriented, and why you’re tired, even though you shouldn’t be.”

“Yes.”

“But, why do they want you so bad? Why don’t they go after other spirits?”

“Oh, they will, I suspect. The Shadows are growing incredibly strong. And they want me because, as an empath, I will be able to increase their power, and they will be strong enough to come through into the world of the living. Right now, they can’t do that. They need a powerful soul.”

“And…you’re a powerful soul.”

“I’m an empath, so I have the emotions of others written on my soul. It makes me extremely powerful, though not by my own choice. I’m at the top of their hit list. But they can’t find me among the living. You’ll probably see a lot more of me nowadays.”

“But…you hadn’t meant to come here. You said I ‘summoned’ you. What was that about?”

“The music.” Morse gestured to the record player. “I’m attached to it, as I am to real ale. Spirits have triggers, you see, things that call us to the world of the living. I have many triggers, as do other spirits, but my summoner’s tokens are music and ale.”

“Ah. So it’s fair to say I can summon you with those, eh?”  
“Yes, Lewis. And, of course, I can find your flat and I can find the CID. I can follow your scent, so to speak. That will bring me back if I…” Morse hesitated. “The Shadows…when they prey on you, it feels cold. Cold and wet. And you can feel it creeping up your back as if you’re soaked through with rain. And you start to lose parts of yourself. They fall off of you like chipping paint.”

Lewis frowned. “You were chipping away when I first saw you. I’m worried for you, Sir. Do you want to possess me? Get your bearings?” Lewis had heard that, supposedly, ghosts could regain their power through possession. It was a risky business, of course, but Lewis had trusted Morse with his life many, many times, and Morse had proven worthy.

But Morse looked ill at the suggestion. “No. I understand what you’re doing, and I’m grateful, but I would never put such strain on you. Possession is a risky business, even for experienced ghosts, and there’s a chance you might not come back, even if I wanted you to. Never accept a ghost asking to possess you, and if I start asking, pour me more whisky!”

Lewis smiled, but Morse didn’t look like he was trying to be funny, so he stopped. “You got better, though,” he encouraged, trying to put his mentor at ease, “when you realized you were with me.”

“Yes. The familiar is always good medicine.” Morse smiled at his sergeant. “I never did get to congratulate you on making inspector. I owe you a drink!”

Lewis chuckled. “I’ll try to remember that when me time comes.”

“You’ve got years ahead of you. Don’t worry, Robbie.”

Lewis smiled. “You almost never call me that.”

“Well, I never did tell you my whole name, did I? Only seemed fair.” Morse was smiling wider now.

Lewis rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, what do we do about the Shadows?”

Morse leaned forward, thinking. “There has to be a source, someone controlling them from behind the scenes. They are mindless. They have always existed, but I gather they have never before been this aggressive. No, someone is controlling them, and until we find out whom, all we can do is try to stay safe. But,” he leaned back, trying to smile. “Let us talk of other things while I am here. I want to hear about your new sergeant.”

And so Lewis and his ghost talked way into the wee hours of the morning, just as they had always done when they worked together. When Lewis awoke the next morning, he barely felt tired at all, and the whisky was emptied from the glass.


	5. Chapter the Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hathaway learns about and encounters Morse for the first time. More is learned about the mysterious Shadows.

James Hathaway had been training to be a priest. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t what he expected.

Knowing the rites and runes, how to curse and bless things for different uses, and how to cleanse using sacred fire seemed more useful to a policeman battling the unknown forces of a demonic cult than a priest hearing confession, but there you go. Like the pagans before them, the priesthood was now the home of many witches and practitioners of practical, and even warrior, witchcraft. Hathaway knew several Latin incantations by heart-prayers, mostly, but very effective against the demonic, and could even wield a blessed scepter. But Hathaway had joined the priesthood to find inner peace, not to become a warrior, and ended up in an unlikely job for a man as passive as he was: the police.

Hathaway had learned over time that what he had wanted in the priesthood was justice and not peace. He was no monk, nor could he have ever been content as one. Unless a warrior monk counted. No, Hathaway was…not happy, but satisfied with police work. He was sort of doing what he had sought to do: bring peace and closure to the suffering, except he often found himself using magic and hard work just as often as he used God. 

On top of that, Hathaway was a sensitive.

He would’ve made a good monk in that aspect, spending his days interpreting runes and bringing messages from the dead. The ability to read the traces of ghosts without actually being able to see or hear them was hardly useful for police work. There was the occasional “help me” written in ectoplasm, and trying to invent an excuse to investigate something a ghost had told him was twice as much trouble as doing the grunt work himself. Hathaway could also sense the presence of ghosts, which had been alarming growing up. He couldn’t see or hear ghosts, so a feeling of dread often accompanied such feelings. It’s difficult to assess friend or foe without the gift of sight or hearing.

As he’d gotten comfortable working under Lewis, he learned his superior was a true psychic, able to see, hear, and touch ghosts. Hathaway’s gift was finally useful; because Lewis took in the whole picture, he sometimes missed the details that Hathaway was good at spotting. They made a great team.

So, when one morning, Hathaway sensed a change in the air after Lewis entered the room, he was confused at best. Especially because Lewis didn’t seem to be reacting.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Is there someone…here?”

Lewis turned on his computer and sat back while waiting for it to boot up. “Might be. Me old boss dropped by last night.”

“Morse?” Hathaway had heard stories, and he could see why Lewis sometimes seemed anxious to get results. Sometimes, a dead guv can cast a wide shadow.

“Aye.” Lewis seemed unconcerned, however.

“What did he want?”

Lewis shrugged; Hathaway got back to work. If it was important, Lewis would tell him. If it wasn’t, it didn’t need to be his business.

___________________________________________________________________________

“He’s sensitive!” Morse said, voice rising, a wind picking up at his feet. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“I didn’t think it was important!” Lewis roared. “Who’s the inspector now, aye?”

“All right, Lewis,” Morse said, catching himself. “Is he trustworthy? We could honestly use all the help we can get.”

For a minute, Lewis wanted very badly to retort that if Morse needed more help, did he expect him to off himself, but refrained. “He’s a good lad. A bit green, but he’ll do. He was studying to be a priest, of all things.”

Morse raised a curious eyebrow. “That can always come in handy. But he can’t see me.”

“No.” Lewis shook his head. “He gets the details, but not the full picture. Bloody useful, though. I miss so much because I’m too busy gawking, like.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad, Robbie.” Morse reassured him gently, touching his shoulder for a moment. “What you have is a gift. And grisly ghosts can be…captivating, for lack of a better word.”

Lewis smiled at his mentor. “I’ll try to remember that when clever clogs next gets irritated at me for not seeing the obvious.”

Morse snorted. “I’ll see what I can do to put him in his place, then.”

Lewis groaned. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”

Morse simply toasted Lewis and gulped down his beer.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

“I don’t want to alarm you, Sir, but we’ve got company.”

Lewis had barely removed his jacket when he looked up to find Hathaway contemplating the dry-erase evidence board currently occupying their office.

The CID was naturally swarmed with ghosts. Lewis had gotten used to it back when he was a sergeant, when he was first assigned to Bottomley due to a transfer in the North. Ghosts of old inspectors watching over the new, living blood, a constable here and there haunting the night shift, it honestly didn’t make Lewis flinch. They went about their business and he went about his.

“Aye?” Lewis looked around, and saw Morse standing in the corner by the whiteboard, smug. But, as usual, his eyes were untrained for the details. “And what do you see that I can’t?”

“ _My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair._ ” Hathaway read. “Shelley, "Ozymandius." But why?”

“Nothing to do but joke in the afterlife?” Lewis asked rhetorically. Morse scowled.

“Is he here?” Hathaway asked, looking up to follow Lewis’ path to his desk.

“Aye.” Lewis tilted his head towards the side of the whiteboard.

“The poem’s about how small humans are compared to the vastness of the world…” Hathaway said thoughtfully. 

Lewis was about to say how much rubbish that was, but he heard Morse clapping in approval and wondered. “Oh. That _is_ fitting, you old sod.”

“I was your superior in life, Lewis,” Morse said gruffly. “But well done for…Hathaway, was it? You were right; he is clever.”

Hathaway moved to his desk, swiveling his chair, facing Lewis. “The vastness…referring to the afterlife?” He looked to Lewis for interpretation. 

“I think he’s passed the test.” Morse said, taking up the whiteboard eraser and removing the words he’d written. “I’m impressed, if not irritated. I would’ve loved to announce myself with webs of ectoplasmic goo.”

“Make all of us miserable? Sounds about right.” Lewis grumbled.

“Sir?” Hathaway had the feeling Morse had been talking just now. Having nothing else to do, he warily watched the eraser move across the board, seemingly of its own volition. A marker was taken up again, writing far simpler words: “ _The Shadows._ ”

Hathaway stared at the board. “Sir…the Shadows?”

“Morse can see em swarming the afterlife. He reckons they’re being controlled.”

“Well, he’d be right, Sir.” Hathaway leaned back. “When I was studying theology at Cambridge, they came up in discussion.”

“What are they?” Lewis asked, leaning on his desk. “Old blue eyes couldn’t tell me much.”

Hathaway cleared his throat, taking up a pen to fiddle with. He was missing his mid-morning smoke. “They’re, well, beings, made of darkness. Stupid, mostly. But they have a great amount of power at their fingertips.”

“They feed on souls.” Lewis supplied. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Morse listening intently. Evidently, some of this was news to him.

“Right. But usually only if they’ve been told to.”

“Who usually controls them? Or am I going to be sorry I asked?”

Hathaway shrugs. “Nobody really knows.”

“You might call him ‘God,’ if you like, given your profession.” Morse interjected. Then, he wrote on the board, “ _God._ ” “Being unable to be heard is tedious.”

Hathaway looked at the board. “I thought you said he wasn’t religious.”

“It’s the short answer,” Lewis waved a dismissive hand. “Is there anything else you know?”

“Shadows are heavily present in prisons, and especially in America’s Death Row.”

Lewis sat back. “Evil souls.”

“Their bread and butter. But, like I said, they’re stupid, so…” Hathaway glanced at the board.

Morse wrote: “ _They are being controlled._ ”

“By whom?” Lewis asked.

Morse shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only been able to get so close before I am pursued.” He erased the board. 

“Only you have access to that information, Sir!” Lewis snapped. He was suddenly overwhelmed with fear. If the Shadows got into Heaven, or worse, the real world…Val and the kids…

As if fearing the wrath of his sergeant, Morse disappeared in an instant. Spiritual energy was sucked from the room like a vacuum.

Hathaway blinked. “Sir?”

Lewis sighed, pitching forward to rest his forehead between his hands. “I know you’re missin your ciggies. Go.”

Hathaway wavered a moment, and then stepped out without a word, careful to close the door behind him.

Lewis caught himself shaking with rage and fear and tried to stop himself. He knew that this was nothing new, but at the same time, before, it had all felt like a game.

For the first time since his mentor had returned, the danger was all too real.


	6. Chapter the Fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse returns to the Library of the Dead and learns the Shadows are growing stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Butter for the Italian translations.

Morse was most likely the crowned king of huffiness. Turning and walking away from an answer he didn’t like or an irritating person was far from new territory.

But it was rare that he should walk away from Lewis like that. In fact, he could not recall ever doing that. He had always just let Lewis leave, work off the steam. However, being a ghost, it was more within his power to leave. And he was determined now to find more information, to do legwork.

Legwork was not something he despised, for he had done it himself for several years while a constable and a sergeant, and even an inspector. However, getting Lewis to do it was a godsend. It left more time for thinking, which was what he did best. His brain, not his feet, had always gotten the best results.

Morse roamed the stacks of the gigantic Library of the Dead. The giant bookshelves seemed to rise up forever and disappear into the sky. Morse felt, when walking beneath them, as if he was staring up at the tallest building in the world from its base. Millions of books, and more than that, surely, lined these shelves. Wind and mist, accompanied by the dust of a thousand generations, blew around his feet as he walked. The ghost touched each book reverently, his fingers dancing along the spines. He didn’t know what he was looking for. More information on the Shadows, on necromancers, on whatever would help. Lewis’ outburst had been related to fear and frustration. If Morse could relieve those feelings, Lewis would be calm, and willing to work with him again.

As Morse walked, he started pulling books off the shelves, taking them with him. The Library of the Dead was one of his favorite places to go in the afterlife, the other being the Great Dead Museum. All such trite names when written in the languages of the living. Even the Italian’s _grande biblioteca dei morti_ was not as beautiful as Deadspeak. 

When Morse had acquired a veritable army of books floating about his head, enough reading material for two mortal weeks at least, he sat in one of the comfiest armchairs and opened the nearest book at hand. This one contained a chapter on practical necromancy that might give him a clue about the person to look out for.

What he discovered was unsettling. Necromancy in the darkest sense of the word meant a mortal puppet, a possession gone wrong, a ghost in a human body. The necromancer’s power allowed the ghost to use its own influence, while the poor human soul, captive, could only look on. Ghostly powers of the truly destructive, old ghosts could wreak havoc on the living world.

Morse slammed the book shut, a shiver forcing its way down his spine. At least he knew what sort of person to look out for. Necromancers carried the tools of their trade: bones, skulls, and hair of the creatures they wished to contact. Necromancers who worked with animals were of little importance; more harmless voodoo than dark art, that. No, the real danger lay in human remains.  
Robbie had better be on the lookout for gravediggers.

Morse was about to open another, more ancient tome when the candle acting as a lamp above his head was suddenly snuffed out…along with the other candles in the Library. That could only mean that not a good soul lingered here. Or, at least, not a soul good enough to fend off the impending darkness.

Morse felt rather than saw the Shadows coming, bringing the damp and cold with them. The walls and furniture gradually looked as though they’d been out in the rain for many moons, the rot and rust settling in. Morse wanted desperately to run, but he needed to finish his research. 

They were so strong, he could hear them whispering to each other. They sounded like insect wings rubbing together, nails on a chalkboard. It was no intelligible language, and yet…

It meant wisdom. 

It meant they could devour the library, and he right along with it.

Morse was not a coward, but he was scared of the oblivion that would result were he to be devoured by the Shadows. Morse swallowed hard, and turned the book in his hands to chapter one.


	7. Chapter the Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Encountering pixies and persons unknown. No death is ever ordinary.

Robbie’s nan was highly superstitious, and one of her most prominent warnings was against any dealings with pixies.

“Pixies,” she used to say, “are nothing but trouble. They are liars, and they feel no emotions. Remember that for me, Robert. You stay away from pixies.”

But Robbie happened to know a very lovely pixie through his work. Well, she was half-pixie, her dad being human. But like her mum, Laura Hobson was always good for a laugh, had a constant craving for sugar, and left a fine layer of pixie dust on everything she touched…which is why it was especially important that she wear gloves at crime scenes. Laura could also change the highlights in her hair at will and lift objects with her pixie dust. She had to use her dust wisely, because it only replenished itself overnight.

“I hate rain,” Laura said to him, looking up from an unfortunate corpse. The droplets streaked down her cheeks, taking the slight sparkle from her face. It reminded Robbie of running makeup, though he knew better than to comment. Hathaway was busy trying to light a cigarette unsuccessfully and looking for signs of the Shadows. 

Thanks to the looming threat of the Dark, no corpse was really ordinary anymore.

“That’s a fine hello.” Robbie teased.

Laura frowned. Pixies hated being wet because it washed away their pixie dust. Without it, they couldn’t do magic. Wet pixies are often lethargic; Laura usually just got testy. “I’ll just get on, shall I?” She pointed to a tree marked with a yellow “1” card. “Rope was tied to that tree there. Cause of death, broken neck. Self-inflicted. Suicide.” She stood up. “I’m going to fetch my umbrella.” She waved at her techs to move the corpse. Robbie glanced around and walked back towards Hathaway. “See anything unusual?” 

“No, Sir. You?” Hathaway had given up on his cigarette and was tapping instead.

“No. And that’s the funny thing. No spirit.”

“It was a suicide, Sir. Maybe they just left. Autopsy might bring to light some complication the caused the suicide.”

“Aye,” But Robbie was not entirely convinced. And he could’ve sworn a flash of pink had darted across his vision just then…

“Sir?” Hathaway was already heading back towards the car, half-shivering in the rain. 

Robbie looked up at the unforgiving sky. Through the trees, it didn’t look like much more than a bright, indescribable light, like the fluorescent lights in a hospital.

Robbie swallowed his bad feeling reluctantly like a poor casserole cooked by his in-laws and treaded back through the underbrush towards the car.

Not far off from where they had stood minutes before stood a figure with a pink, frilly umbrella and a glowing jar in her hands. The figure smiled and, clasping the bells on her frilly collar, turned and walked the opposite way out of the woods.


	8. Chapter the Seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura is informed and tells Robbie some shocking news.

“I think it’s time you told me why you’re so keen on mundane deaths of late.” Laura demanded, rubbing her hair with a towel and looking at it with distaste. “Blast. Robbie, get me a sugar cube, will you?”

Robbie walked out towards the morgue, fumbled in Laura’s jacket, found the bag of sugar cubes, and successfully brought one back to her.

“Thanks.” Laura popped the sugar cube into her mouth and sucked on it happily as she dried off. “Now tell me.”

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I did, pet.”

“Try me.” Laura turned to watch him with bright, curious eyes. Sometimes, he couldn’t stand that. She looked like a bug or a cartoon character, watching him like that.

Robbie made a doubtful noise and rubbed at the base of his neck, a nervous habit he’d half picked up from Morse. Or, maybe, too many head injuries. “Well, let’s start with ‘I’m psychic’ and go from there.”

“Ooh, a psychic.” Laura grinned. “This is going to get interesting.”

“Let’s hope so.” Robbie leaned forward on the back of a chair and sighed before straightening again. “I’ve…been seeing Morse.”

Something flashed in Laura’s eyes, but she gave nothing of her thoughts away. 

“And he was an empath.”

“A Greater Human.” Laura shook his head. “No wonder he acted so superior, the old sod.”

Robbie automatically looked around the office, but it was only the two of them. Not seeing or even feeling Morse in a few days worried him, even though he knew ghosts, especially intelligent hauntings like Morse, would come and go as they pleased. “He’s being chased on and off by these beings called Shadows.”

Laura bit her lip. “I heard stories, but…Robbie…”

“Sorry, love. They’re real.” Robbie straightened his back and pocketed his hands. “And worse yet, they’re being controlled.”

“By who?” Laura asked.

“We don’t know.” Robbie sighed in defeat.  
“Oh.” Laura said. “Then this might be a bad time.”

Robbie’s head was up like a shot. “What?”

“Robbie…I want to talk about our relationship.”


	9. Chapter the Eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More is revealed than is expected, and Morse has an encounter with the Shadows.

The last of the fading lights in the library went out. Morse shut the book with a mighty thud and scrambled to his feet. If he had a heart to speak of, it would’ve been beating fast; his spiritual equivalent to the organ surely was.

No one had needed to mention necromancy for Morse to know that’s what they were dealing with. Only a necromancer had the power to command age-old beings like the Shadows, even if they were just a puppet. He didn’t know enough about that particular strand of dark magic; even the proponents of “through education” that hid behind a “mere interest” in the most destructive of the arcane arts wouldn’t touch necromancy. The raising of the dead, and anything to do with it, had long ago been forbidden, the only pagan practice that had not gained an educated following.

Or so he’d thought. Because Morse had heard of necromancy, oh yes. No child went to bed without threats of necromancy in their heads. It was hated by everyone, even dark arts “practioners,” whom, if they weren’t criminals, merely laid the occasional, non-fatal curse on someone who deserved it, or who otherwise declared themselves fully neutral to the struggles of the world. Morse hated the indifferent almost as much as he hated the evil.

Before Lewis, before Morse was even a chief, there had been whispers of a necromancer on the Force. Morse and Strange had stood side by side and watched a good man and a dedicated copper hang because of a few bones found in his locker. The dreaded creature he’d created only came knocking the next night. 

It was the one and only time Morse had used a gun.

If Lewis was dealing with a necromancer, he had better be careful. If nothing else, necromancy was the most tempting of the forbidden arts. The promise of resurrection could be enough to drive even the most righteous man mad. Morse vowed to keep a close eye on his friend.

Morse supplied himself with a particularly spine-tingling musical score as he watched a clawed hand grab onto a bookcase. Almost without warning-nothing more than a whisper of air, they had cornered him, and now he was very nearly surrounded, with no visible way of escape. 

However, the last thing Morse was about to do was give up. Why run when he could now reason with these beings, and ask them questions? He was always more adept at talking his way out of situations than trying to fight his way out. Besides, he needed to return to Lewis with something more tangible than a whisper of necromancy and a lot of stories.

“Who are you working for?” He asked. Up close, the Shadows took on more of a form, or that could be their increased strength. They looked more like vaguely human shapes, heads still shrouded in shadow, with long, stick-thin arms and spindly fingers that reminded Morse of the legs of spiders. Two figures leading the pack looked at each other when Morse spoke.

“Mustn’t tell,” one hissed, “Devour…devour!”

The mass flooded closer like waves lapping at the shoreline. Morse backed up until his calves were against the armchair. He could retreat no further.

“A necromancer is guiding you.” He said. “Who are they?”

“Pink…” said one. 

Morse stored that information. At least he could bring back something to Robbie. If he got back.

No, Morse, don’t think like that. Not yet.

“Do you follow a leader here?” Morse asked, trying to keep the Shadows at bay with his light. He was weak from traveling between worlds, and they were strong with new offerings.

“Great and dark…” the Shadows murmured, “a great, dark soul…” One of the shadows stretched out its clawed hand and touched Morse’s arm. The ghost immediately felt a chill that left him devoid of any other feelings. Another Shadow grabbed hold of him, pulling him closer to itself. Morse watched in horror as a mouth with two rows of tiny, pointed teeth emerged from the black like the mouth of a lamprey. 

Morse felt stunned, drawn into the mass of black. If this was the end, it was more horrible a way to go than a heart attack had been. And damn it, he’d take the whole world with him!

Morse shook. He fought. All he saw was splotches as the Shadows tried to overwhelm him. Morse thought of Lewis and summoned his strength. He tried to imagine the red threads of emotion dragging him away…

For a moment, he was lost, and all was darkness. 

Only then did a familiar voice cut through his consciousness.

“Let him go for now, my pretties. Every great artist needs a biographer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, these chapters will have actual names...excuse the clumsiness for now, mateys!


	10. Chapter the Ninth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly does the pixie have up her sleeve?

“Morse? What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Robbie, calm down…”

Lewis glared at her a moment before taking a long drink of ale. “Laura, Morse is dead. What does he have to do with us now?”

Laura reached her hand across the table and latched onto his. “Because you loved him. As much as you loved Val. I could see it in your eyes, Robbie.”

Lewis blinked, and then sat back. “He knew.” He turned away, clenching his fists. “Damn! He knew! But…he never told me!”

“He was obviously hiding the fact that he was an empath.”

“But…he knew how I felt!”

“There was a great risk to him.” Laura bent her head forward, tilting it slightly as she studied him. “And he may not have felt the same way. But even if he did, to risk his heart, when you might be scared by his advances, ask for a transfer, or worse…”

Lewis turned to face her again, eyes hard. “I would’ve never mocked him. He was strange and unconventional and damned…” he paused, trying to think of the right word, “…difficult,” he paused to sip his beer, “but I would’ve never betrayed him like that!”

Laura took her hand off his and lifted her beer with both hands. “He couldn’t have known. I didn’t know Morse very well, but I knew the shell was hard to crack. And…he may’ve taken my then-interest in Johnson as treason.”

Lewis chuckled. “Aye. He could be so particular about that sort of thing.” He smiled briefly in memory. “But…I still don’t get what that has to do with us.”

“You love Hathaway.”

Lewis wished he hadn’t been in the midst of swallowing just then. He coughed. “Laura, I…”

“And it’s clear he loves you, too.”

“Laura,” Lewis grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “That doesn’t take anything away from what we have. I was married. I’m able to keep my sideline affections in check!”

Laura laughed lightly and kissed his hand. “Oh, love, I don’t mind! In fact, I rather love your dishy sergeant, too. I was hoping…” She blushed slightly and retreated into her beer. “…Maybe it’s silly. Never mind.”

It was Lewis’ turn to laugh. “You think we could work something out.”

“It’s called polyamory,” Laura said quietly, her highlights changing to a bashful blue. “It’s, well…as far as I understand…it’s about loving more than one person wholly and equally.”

“You did keep telling me you had two mums at one point.”

“Actually, I had three.” Laura giggled. “Mum wasn’t shy about her affections.”

“Your dad was a lucky man.” Lewis laughed, turning away as Laura smacked him.

“Anyway, that’s what I meant to suggest. If James is willing.” Laura added quickly. “I know how he feels about you, but how he feels about me is a mystery.”

“Sounds like James to me.” Lewis drained his beer. “Another round?”

“Please.” Laura said. When Lewis returned from the crowded bar, she leaned in close. “Now. How do we go about telling him?” 

Her highlights turned a gleeful, cunning red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish the italics were working for me...*sigh*


	11. Chapter the Tenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse returns to the world of the living at last.

“Now, you’re sure you don’t mind inviting me over for a nightcap?” Laura asked, leaning heavily on Lewis’ arm.

Lewis rolled his eyes affectionately. “Nightcap? More like ‘one glass of water and then to bed’, love.”

“Sorry!” Laura slurred, giggling. “Pixies really shouldn’t drink…hic!”

“All right, all right.” Lewis unlocked his apartment door and let her inside. He tried to flick on the overhead light in the kitchen, but couldn’t.

“Fuse out?” Laura asked, sounding slightly more sober than before. He could just see her shadow as she snuggled into her cardigan. It was a mite too cold in here…

Of course. At first, he’d written off the feeling as just having had a bit too many, but it was clear to him now. Someone was here. 

And it certainly wasn’t a living someone.

“Who’s there?” Lewis asked.

“Robbie?” Laura asked hesitantly, moving closer to him in the dark. 

The small light over the stove clicked on of its own accord, making Laura scream in fright. “It’s okay, Laura,” Lewis soothed. “Hello, Sir.”

Morse was standing in the middle of the kitchen, back facing his friend. When he turned, Robbie’s face changed from relieved to concerned. And he had good reason to change his tune. 

Morse’s face, and, indeed, his entire body, was covered in deep welts and scars. A large one was bleeding ecoplasm drop by drop, indicating that the wound was recent, but not recent enough to bleed profusely. He looked ragged and exhausted, even more so than Lewis had ever seen him. “Robbie…” Morse said weakly before collapsing.

“Sir!” Lewis caught him by the arm, Laura watching helplessly. “Are you all right?”

Morse lifted his body slowly. “They…caught me off guard…Lewis, can I take it?” He looked over at the light above the stove. 

“Yes. Yes, anything.” Lewis said immediately.

The light over the stove went out. The room was dark, but Morse’s form cast a visible, ethereal glow. Laura gasped. “Wow. Robbie wasn’t kidding. You’re…back.”  
Morse smiles weakly. “Hello, Laura.” He righted himself and sighed. “Luckily she can’t see me,” he said only to Lewis. “I think she’d be off ghosts forever!”

Lewis chuckled.

“Hey, you’re not allowed to keep me out of it!” Laura said petulantly. “You certainly did enough of it while I was alive!”

“Sorry,” Lewis said.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Oh, that’s right. Am I to call you doctor in this capacity, or…?”

“Laura will do, thank you, Morse. So.” She looked at Robbie. “What’s he here for?”

Morse looked at Lewis questioningly. 

“She knows.” Lewis replied. “Have you sucked all the electricity out of my flat, or can I spare one light?” He was aware of sounding harsh, but such an intrusion was the last thing he needed right now.

“No, go on and light them. I collapsed more out of surprise and vertigo than anything.” Morse replied. It was partially a lie, but he was never good with admitting his own shortcomings.

Lewis lit the room, but kept the kitchen dark. He went to get Laura a glass of water and poured himself a shot of whiskey. Then, he sat beside Laura on the couch while Morse took the armchair across from them.

“I’ve found out a great deal since last we spoke, Lewis,” Morse said audibly, sitting gingerly so as not to leak ectoplasm on the furniture. “None of it is good news, but it may help solve the case.” He clasped his hands together, examining the cuts on their surface. “You are dealing with a necromancer, and one who deals in human remains. I was able to question the Shadows—”

“Necromancy?” Laura mouthed in shock.

“You what?” Lewis asked. “You spoke to the Shadows? I thought you said they were mindless!”

“They’ve gotten stronger. Much stronger.” Morse fingered the cut on his cheek and rubbed the ectoplasm between his forefinger and thumb. 

“They did that to you?” Lewis asked, concern fighting its way to the surface.

“Did what?” Laura looked up at Lewis in alarm.

“He looks awful and is covered in scars and welts,” Lewis explained.

“How awful!” Laura exclaimed. Her worry intensified Lewis’.

“It doesn’t hurt, my d—Laura,” Morse reassured her. “Not enough for it to matter. I’ve had worse pains after sleeping badly, in life. But yes, the Shadows have gotten strong enough to develop speech. They may even know how to write, or invent a language of their own.”

“What does that mean?” Lewis asked, leaning forward.

“For you, in the living world, nothing.” Morse replied.

“And for you?”

Morse ignored him. “Your necromancer will not look like a necromancer. That much I do know. Their identity may also have to do with the color pink. I was able to speak with the Shadows before they overwhelmed me.”

“It sounds awful. How did you get away?” Laura asked with hesitant excitement.

“Well.” Morse ran a hand through his ghostly hair. “Their…master…called them off.”

“So, they have a controller in the spirit world.” Lewis sat back with a groan. “Great.”

“I have reason to believe he is the one controlling the actions of the necromancer.”

“You have a suspect?” Lewis sat forward again, energy renewed.

“Unfortunately, he is more than a suspect.” Morse met Lewis’ eyes. “His name is…Mason Gull.”


	12. Chapter the Eleventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is Mason Gull, and what is it that Morse forgot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot details of "Fugue" are mentioned, so...spoilers for that, I suppose.

“Mason Gull?” Hathaway asked over his computer screen. “The name certainly brings results up. Who is he?”

Lewis shook his head. “Morse wouldn’t tell me much. He begged off because he was…bleeding ectoplasm.”

“Maybe the journey between worlds is more exhausting than it seems.” Hathaway theorized, abusing the keyboard in place of a cigarette. “Spiritual energy tends to want to remain in the plane where it can work most effectively.”

“Hmn,” Lewis said noncommittedly. “What do the files say?”

Hathaway clicked the most relevant search detail. As he started reading, Lewis got up to stand behind him to look. “Mason Gull was arrested in 1965 by a D.I. Thursday. A D.S. Jakes and D.C. Morse-oh! Sir-were also credited with the arrest. The notice is signed by a C.S. Bright.”

“What was he arrested for? Can’t read the bloody screen now it’s too bright for me eyes.”

“Several killings and a kidnapping. Oh, looks like attempted murder of D.I. Thursday as well.”

“Morse mentioned that he had a D.I. before I knew McNutt.” Lewis crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe this Thursday guy was him.”

“D.I. Fred Thursday was one of the best men I ever knew.” 

Lewis looked up like a startled deer. Morse was standing in the corner by the whiteboard. One of his arms-not his dominant hand by the look of things-was in a sling and a prominent bandage was wrapped around his head. A patch of gauze sat on his cheekbone following the curve of the biggest cut, and several other bandages were wrapped around his forearms, thighs, and ankles. His clothes were torn, and his ribs, along with two fingers on his dominant hand, appeared to be taped. He certainly did not look well. His face was thin, eyes hollow as if he hadn’t slept in days, bruise-like circles beneath them. He was favoring his left side, cradling his wounded arm.

Hathaway notices his boss’s attention is divided, so he cranes his neck upward. “Sir? Is Morse here?” 

“Aye.” Lewis points.

“I can barely sense him. Except that it did get rather chilly in here for spring.” 

“I told ye he was bleeding ectoplasm. He’s very weak.”

“Don’t fuss, Lewis,” Morse huffed in half-hearted frustration. “I simply cannot spare the time to repair my image. And I had to do something to stop the bleeding meantime.”

“When you left last night, it was pouring out of your cuts like puss!”

Morse looked disgusted. “Yes, thank you for that visual, Lewis.” He looked at Hathaway, whose face, though passive, betrayed that he clearly could not hear Morse’s side of the conversation. “Oh, I’m not audible, am I? Not sure I can spare the energy for that, but I’ll try.” He turned to the white board and wrote the letters E, G, B, D, and F on its surface. “Every Good Boy Deserves Favor. Mason Gull was playing a game with the police. Each of his victims matched this acronym, in order.”

Hathaway glanced at the file. “Evelyn, Grace, Ben, Daniel. But where’s F?”

“Fred.” Morse replied. “I…managed to save my guv.”

Lewis looked impressed. Hathaway said nothing; to him, guvnors saving their sergeants was old hat, considering Lewis had saved him numerous times.

“The point is they were all part of his revenge scheme.” Morse rubbed his hip absently. “He wanted me, too, but he didn’t get me. I wouldn’t join him.”

“And then?” Lewis rested his hands on his hips momentarily before shifting to favor his right leg. 

“He was arrested, put away for the rest of his life. We made sure of that, all of us: Jakes, Sir, and I. Bright, too, like as not.” Morse scoffed. “It was “inconvenient” that Gull was released in the first place, is how he put it.” It was obvious that Morse had nothing good to say about the man who had been his former Chief Super.

“So?” Lewis asked impatiently.

“I’d wager the last of my ectoplasmic blood that he wants to punish the world that put him away. All great criminals think they’re in the right.”

Hathaway solemnly remembered Zoe and nodded. 

“And he’s after you to do it?” Lewis asked. It sounded like an accusation.

“Icing on the proverbial cake.” Hathaway replied as if it was second-nature; his usual way, in other words. “Empath spirits are some of the most powerful spirits out there. One millimeter of their concentrated energy is enough to power an entire city.”  
Morse straightened, his eyes distant in shock and horror. “Oh no.”

“What’s ‘oh no’?” Lewis panicked. “Sir, I know that look. What did you just realize?”

“I may have made a grave mistake.” Morse turned away. “Oh, I feel ill…”

“Sir?” Lewis walked after him, arm outstretched. Morse heard the tones of a concerned, optimistic young man with his heart in the right place, unsure of what to do in the face of Morse’s gloom. Hathaway heard a vulnerability that he did not like; it made him itch to hear Lewis sound so uncertain. He watched anxiously.

Morse didn’t look back, but lifted his head. “If I’ve made the mistake I think I have…oh, Lewis. You might not be able to forgive me this time.”

“Sir! Wait! Don’t go!” Lewis grabbed…at nothing. It was too late; Morse was gone. “I’d never not forgive ye,” Lewis whispered sadly. “You should know that by now, Sir.”

Hathaway blinked. “Is he gone?”

Lewis nodded. “I’m worried.”

“So…what do we do about all this?”

The glass door opened and both inspector and sergeant jumped to attention. Laura, bright pink highlights in today, smiled widely. “Anyone up for lunch?”


	13. Chapter the Twelfth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And an ot3 is born...

Lewis poked at his cottage pie, pulling at his beer as he thought. It was worrying to him that Morse thought so little of him, to think he’d never forgive him… How could I? He thought. I love him. And yes, dead or not, Lewis could not deny that a candle still burned for Morse in his heart somewhere. Yes, he always had lots of love and affection to give, and he never felt jilted or jealous, even when it was not returned.

“Robbie?” Laura nudged him, hard. “Robbie, it’s your round.”

“Oh, is it? Sorry…” Lewis made to get up, but Laura pulled him down.

“I only said that to get your attention, you know.”

“Oh…” Lewis blushed into his pie; of course it would be a typical Morse-like scolding to pull him out of his daze.

“Don’t tell me I need to start worrying about you, Sir,” Hathaway teased lightheartedly, with real concern concealed behind his eyes.

Shit, Lewis thought, he really is in love with me. 

Laura rested her head on his bicep. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“It’s Morse.” Hathaway interrupted. 

“When isn’t it with you?” Laura teased.

“Oi!” Lewis shoved her playfully. “I talk about lots more’n him! And it aint always him, either! Cases, or sommat, usually.”

Hathaway hummed into his beer glass. “He’s got a point there, doctor.”

“Oh, please,” Laura flirted, “call me ‘Laura’.”

Lewis expected to feel jealous but, surprisingly, didn’t. Not towards James. Somehow…that was all right. Yeah, this could work out quite well.

Hathaway blushed and straightened his tie. “Hem. Laura, then.”

Definite possibility. And right now, he could stand to think a little less about Morse and the complicated mess between two worlds at hand. “While we’re all here…Laura, did you want to…?”

“You don’t want the honors?” Laura folded her hands in front of her. A small dusting of sparkly, magical material was gathering at her wrists. 

“You explained it best, honestly. And I think we all want another round for this. Same again?”

Hathaway nodded, his curious eyes watching Laura like a hawk. Or a lizard; Lewis thought that seemed a better descriptor.

As Lewis walked away, Laura leaned forward. “James, Robbie and I were talking, and, well…” She looked up at him charmingly. “We decided that we…rather fancy you.”

“Uhh…” Hathaway pulled at his collar. “I-I’m flattered. I don’t know what to say.”

“Pixies,” Laura went on, watching him carefully for signs of disgust or undue discomfort, “are known to be polyamorous. I’m not shy about admitting that I am capable of giving equal love to two different people. I was lucky enough to have three mothers and a father who all loved me equally.”

“So, you…” Hathaway cleared his throat as he tried to process the information. “And R-I mean, Lewis?”

“You know I love you, canny lad,” Lewis said as he returned, sliding a beer across to Hathaway. “You’ve seen what I’d go through to protect you. I practically fell in love at first sight!” He clasped Laura’s hand. “Me’n Laura go way back. Always did take me a while to fall for a friend.”

“So…” Hathaway blinked. “You’re…both…okay…with this?”

“Yes.” Laura replied simply.

“We’d like you to become a part of us.” Lewis smiled welcomingly. “If you’re willing.”

Hathaway took a swallow of beer and played with his long fingers. “Guys, I’m honored…I really want to, but…”

“But?” Laura pressed, reaching for his hand across the table. To unite them, Lewis took Hathaway’s other hand.

Hathaway slipped away from them. “I’m…not sexual. Not much. Certainly not enough for two. I…”

“Slow down, slow down, clever clogs!” Lewis laughed. “As far as I’m concerned, ye can have as much or as little of us as ye want!”

“I agree.” Laura replied. “As long as you can understand that Robbie and I are…sexual, people, then we’ll understand you. But,” she smirked, “please tell me you like to cuddle.”  
Hathaway smiled and took Laura’s hand. “Oh, I love cuddling.”

Lewis took Hathaway’s hand. “Then I think we’ll get along just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's curious, sexuality-wise:
> 
> -Lewis and Laura are bisexual polys  
> -Hathaway is demisexual poly
> 
> and Zodiac-wise:
> 
> Lewis: Cancer  
> Hathaway: Pisces  
> Laura: Sagittarius
> 
> Morse doesn't really matter, but he is heterosexual biromantic and his Zodiac is Virgo.


	14. Chapter the Thirteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse and his threads.

The void opened before him and Morse collapsed into it. He was so tired that he didn’t even mind the falling. 

If he was right, and he had his suspicions, then this case was a lot more dangerous than he’d anticipated. 

If he could’ve left Lewis out of it, he would’ve. The last thing Val would’ve wanted was for her husband to join her before his time.

“Stupid, Morse,” Morse sighed to himself as he closed his eyes. “What have you gotten your sergeant into now?”

When his vertigo had subsided, Morse found himself in his rooms. After his death, Morse had made a cozy little space for himself close to the Library. For a time, Val had lived here, too. Her feminine charm could still be felt and seen about the place. Morse touched the curtains hung on his windows, noting the French pleating at the tops. 

He hadn’t minded sharing the space with her. When she’d gone on to the Light, he’d felt lonely again, left only with his fears and the knowledge that they were all too real.

Morse sat in his chair and sighed, closing his eyes. He felt so weak, so drained, from traveling between worlds and bleeding his ectoplasm. He knew that he had to stay in the world of the living. He was too weak to fend off the Shadows now.

Morse dispelled the bandages. At least the cuts and welts had stopped bleeding; that much Lewis’ electricity had helped to heal. But he was still far too worn. He needed to regain his strength if he could hope to help his dear old friend.

Morse got up and wandered his space. As he moved, different blurs of light became tangible objects; a desk, a lamp, a record player, a cabinet, a counter, bottles of beer and whiskey and wine. At last, Morse found his bed. He sat on the corner, feeling the softness sag beneath his weight. An illusion, yes, but a powerful one for an exhausted ghost.

Morse lay on his side and watched the world around him blur and fade, until he and his bed were alone in a great sea of black. Morse closed his eyes and imagined he was solid, imagined that he was back at home, alive, and that everything was going to be fine.

Blind faith made Morse pull the covers up to his chin and pretend the world would protect him just because he wished it to. Foolish, yes, but the most powerful of ghost can work miracles.

As Morse rested, he rebuilt the red threads of emotion in his mind. They had always acted like lifelines, extra holds he could use if the going got far too rough. He felt warmed by them, by the remembered feelings of love and affection contained in each, even in the threads that had been severed by death or heartbreak. Lewis’ thread flowed on, long and strong and warmer than all the rest. In his sleep, Morse clung to it, just as he always had.

He knew Lewis had loved him, but who was he to act upon such feelings? Sometimes, it seemed a foolish decision to deny himself, but…what kind of relationship could they have had? Neither would have been satisfied, he felt. And yet, Lewis’ strong flowed on, warm and secure, eternal.

Morse slept on, healing his wounds and holding onto love as tightly as he could.

If Gull had indeed been an empath, they would need more than love to get through this unharmed.


	15. Chapter the Fourteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse gathers suspects for our living detectives...but is everything as clear-cut as it seems?

Jean Innocent stopped James Hathaway in the corridor on the way to the office he shared with Inspector Lewis. “James!” She said brightly, though it may well have been a sarcastic cheeriness. “Care to tell me why your office is a tip?”

“I, uh…” James remembered very little of the night before…everything was hazy from good wine. He did remember a great deal of promised cuddling and a rather comfortable sleep in the middle of his superior’s bed, surrounding by two pairs of loving arms. It had been no easy task slithering his way out of bed this morning and quietly sorting through Robbie’s things for a spare toothbrush and deodorant.

Innocent leveled eight pairs of eyes at him. Medusas had lost their ability to turn people to stone; usually, it was just a momentary paralysis, but the stare combined with the low hissing from the snakes that acted as her hair made James look away, lest he become a statue. And, naturally, Jean Innocent’s snakes were hooded cobras. “Just see to it that you don’t make a habit of it.” And she glided gracefully away, only half-medusa, but with all the grace of a snake’s slither. Female medusas could be quite the temptresses; James could see why.

Hathaway tugged at his tie to straighten it and walked on to his office. He and Robbie (it felt odd to call his superior that) had left the office in a semi-tidy state; he remembered that much.

Before opening the door, Hathaway caught sight of a disembodied folder zooming across the room. Great. An intrusion from a ghost was the last thing he needed right now. It seemed as though Morse had helped himself to the station’s files.

Hathaway opened the door and felt a veritable buzz of spiritual activity; Morse wasn’t bragging when he claimed to be a ghost of considerable power. James had never experienced this much energy from a single ghost before.

“What are you doing?” He hissed, glaring in all general directions around the room. “Someone could wonder why files are flying about of their own accord!”

“You’ve got sparkles on your tie.” The disembodied voice came from somewhere to his top-left. Hathaway pivoted and spied a folding table with a large filing box on it. Several piles lay haphazardly on it. The rest were stacked up on Lewis’ desk. Another one nearly clipped Hathaway’s shoulder as it zoomed past.

“Stop that.” Hathaway lifted his phone and looked at his reflection on the screen. He noticed the slight sheen on his tie and went to brush it off.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Pixie dust is meant to stick to skin.” Morse’ voice again; Hathaway wished more than anything to see the man Lewis heralded as mentor, yet did not shy from a fight with. “A damp paper towel will do it.”

Hathaway grunted in frustration. “Just…mind you don’t make any more files fly! I’ll be right back.”

When Hathaway returned from a quick trip to the gents (this was all too much before his first fag, and he didn’t feel comfortable leaving the ghost alone), he found the empty file box sitting on his desk.

“I thought Laura was dating Robbie.” Hathaway could tell by the way the words were spoke that Morse was being careful to use current lingo.

“She is. It’s…complicated.” Hathaway cleared his throat.

“I’d go fetch the coffee, but I am currently disembodied.” A breeze passed by him.

“No, it’s all right; I’m missing my fags.”

“Ah. Lewis used to smoke, did you know that? I think Val made him quit.”

The thought of his boss, staunchly against his smoking, once being a smoker himself struck Hathaway as funny. He smirked. “I bet you could tell some stories.”

“Lewis was always better at spinning a yarn.”

“All right, I’ll bite.” Hathaway gestured. “What are the files for? Didn’t think we had paper anything anymore.”

“Well, this comes from the colleges,” Morse replied. “The pile behind me-sorry, at Lewis’ desk-is a list of possible suspects.”

Hathaway leaned back thoughtfully. “Ah. For our necromancer.”

“Yes. Well done. The rest I’ve discarded, as you see.”

Hathaway did see. No wonder Lewis sometimes cheerily pushed grudgework at him.

“So, what are the records?” Hathaway stood up with a grunt and started neatly putting the files back into the empty filebox.

“At-risk students studying magic at the colleges. Usually, they are watched extra carefully if they are enrolled in dark arts classes, even as only a passing interest.”

“And by ‘at risk,’ they mean…?”

“I’d rather wait for Lewis if you don’t—”

At that exact moment, the door swung to and Lewis walked in. Hathaway noted that he was distinctly more sparkly than he himself had been. Lewis nodded at James, but his neutral expression changed to a sorrowful tinge when he set eyes upon the ghost. “Sir! You look awful! Have the Shadows been at you?”

“Thank you, Lewis,” Morse said sarcastically in a defeated tone. “No, they haven’t. I was…” He looked away shyly, tugging at his ear. In an inaudible voice, he explained: “I was…resting, actually.”

Lewis looked Morse over critically. The ghost’s clothes now hung off him, as if he’d recently lost ten pounds. Fading scars dotted his body and his face had thinned considerably. Deep, dark circles had taken residence under his eyes, which seemed to have lost some of their luster. Morse looked defeated, ill, and exhausted. It was not a look Lewis liked to see.

He could sense Morse wanted to drop the topic, but he reached out briefly to touch Morse’s wrist. Morse looked at him as the emotions behind what he dearly wanted to say flowed through; concern, empathy, love. The last was unexpected, and Morse nearly recoiled from the touch. Instead, he grasped Lewis’ hand in his and held it firmly, meeting his eyes. “I’m not done in yet,” he said, smiling. Lewis relaxed, and the two men, one living and one dead, released each other.

Hathaway cleared his throat. “I’m gasping, Sir. Um, the inspector wanted…”

“Oh, yes,” Morse said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was just explaining. Lewis, the files on your desk are possible suspects for our necromancer. I was just saying that these files are records kept by various colleges in Oxford of at-risk students.”

“And these are available to the public?” Lewis asked, sitting at his desk and pawing through them.

“No, but they are given to police, just like fingerprints are these days. Students submit willingly, or they are compelled to by the college, upon enrollment in dark arts programs. Even if the interest is purely academic.”

Lewis nodded thoughtfully, frowning as he pored over the files. “So?”

“So, Gull would look for a vulnerable mind he could manipulate.” Morse leaned through Lewis’ shoulder and tapped at the files. “Our necromancer is somewhere here.”

“And you sorted these yourself?” Lewis looked over his shoulder at Morse.

“Yes. I looked for relevance, as well as level of caution indicated in the files. Obviously, such records do not document personal lives of students, but…”

“Classes.” Lewis ran his finger down the page. “Family history, clubs…everything academic.”

“Precisely. The most fragile of minds are the young and newly educated.”

“I hadn’t thought young, had you?” Lewis looked across at Hathaway, who shrugged.

“Look at all options?” He was fidgeting now.

“All right, go have your cig. When you get back-with coffee-I want everything we’ve got on anyone who’s had priors in dark arts.”

“Yes, Sir.” Hathaway stood to leave.

“I was about to protest, but it is good thinking,” Morse said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “The fragile mind may also be the criminal’s. And James said that the Shadows gravitate towards blackened souls.”

“You never did like admitting I was right.” Lewis smiled wryly.

“Lewis,” Morse scolded, “that was hardly ever the problem.” Suddenly, he hissed in pain, making Lewis jump.

“Sir?”

“I’m all right, I’m all right.” Morse leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. His hand clutched at his side.

“You need to rest some more,” Lewis suggested, worried.

“I’ll have plenty of time to rest when the world is no longer in danger.” Morse said matter-of-factly. Lewis could tell this wasn’t the first time Morse had said these words to himself. He was about to protest further when Morse changed the subject. “You both have glitter on you. Pixie dust, by the look of it.”

“Ah…yeh…” Lewis rubbed his head shyly. “We all came to…an agreement, of sorts.”

Morse frowned, and then shook his head. “I don’t understand newfangled love.”

“It’s love still,” Robbie insisted, smiling. “It was just a bit more conventional in your day.”

Morse chuckled. “Is that it, then?” He pushed himself off the wall. “Robbie…I have committed an oversight.”

“I’m listening.”  
“Mason Gull…” Morse swallowed around the name, “may have also been an empath.”

Lewis felt his face go white. “But…if that’s true, then why…?”

“Necromancy?” Morse shrugged. “I have no idea. For the fun of manipulating others? Gull was not above that; made a cuckold of the entire station in my day. No,” he stopped pacing abruptly. “There must be a reason. I’ve got to do some reading on empaths.” He disappeared into thin air.

Robbie scoffed. “Oh, aye, and leave us with the donkey work.” He shook his head. “Some things never change…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medusa was a monster in Greek mythology that is usually depicted as having snakes for hair and being so ugly that she could turn people to stone just by looking at them. Jean Innocent is not ugly by any means, but she may have turned a man or two to stone in her day...


	16. Chapter the Fifteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse encounters Mason Gull for the first time, but will his weakened form prevent him from coming out unscathed?

To his shame, Morse was too weak to appear as a visage. He was forced to condense his energy into a floating orb.

Morse simply couldn’t understand why he was so exhausted. He never remembered being so tired in all his life, except after his brief hospital stay, perhaps. He felt the aches of his cause of death whenever he tried to use his visage. Perhaps travelling between worlds cost him more than he could bear. Or, perhaps, the Shadows had taken more energy from him than he’d before assumed.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. Morse would not let irritating exhaustion get in the way of solving this case. Even though orbs were the refuge of spirits who could not remember how they looked in life and no spirit with any memories at all would be caught dead using an orb. Morse’s pride would have to wait until he could get some rest. Time was of the essence now.

However, there were perks to being an orb. Morse could search through books much faster by climbing through the stacks of books in the Library, scanning each one for information before moving on to the next shelf. It was much more efficient than using his physical form. He was learning a lot from his quick skimming, but nothing of real importance.

Finally, after about an hour or so of searching, Morse found the book on empaths he was looking for. After all, being an empath in life could hardly prepare you for empathic powers in the afterlife. He took his time, reading each page carefully and storing the information away for future use. The most pertininent bit of information so far was that, if Gull had indeed been an empath, he would’ve been an insane one. Empaths would be able to pick up on the emotions of those they touched, able to pick them up and feel what they were feeling. Empaths who were more controlled could feel the emotions without being effected by them. Morse had learned such control as he’d aged, by necessity alone. If Gull had also learned said control, it would’ve made him a powerful killer. If not, if he allowed himself to be effected by the emotions of his victims…Morse shuddered. He hated to think about what kind of sick man Gull had been.

It still wasn’t clear why Gull needed the Shadows to devour his soul in order to break through into the world of the living. Morse had thought most blackened spirits were dragged into hell. Perhaps Gull had escaped the gates of hell. What’s more, what if his power was going towards controlling the Shadows? Such ancient beings would take considerable power to control and manipulate.

The atmosphere changed in an instant. Morse could feel the Library grow colder as the candles flickered out. He left the book he was reading and floated to the edge of the bookshelf. Looking down made him feel ill, the ache of a heart attack overwhelming his entire being. He felt like the orb was being slowly crushed and he had the disturbing feeling of a lack of oxygen. His ears were ringing so badly that he almost didn’t hear it.

“Morse? Are you in here, Morse?”

Morse forced himself to look down. The Shadows were swarming around the bottom of the shelves below, in the form of large, threatening dogs. Holding them all on a lead was a spindly, tall ghost with wild white hair sticking out in all directions and a broken straight jacket wrapped around his torso. Morse was almost too terrified to move, though he told himself it was because of the height, and not because letting the Shadows get a hold of him could mean the end of life as he knew it.

“I can barely feel you, you’re so weak! Why don’t you lie down and sleep for a while? Ha! Did you like that? I’m such a clever poet.” The ghost of Mason Gull laughed. Morse noted that chains made of dark, pulsating matter were wrapped from his neck and ankles. “When we first met, you had so much fun with my little puzzle! We should play again.”

One of the Shadow-dogs had stopped below the bookcase Morse was hiding in. It sat down and started howling, an other-worldly sound that could barely be classified as anything a living animal would make. It sounded more like feedback than anything.

“Ah, so you are here!” Gull stopped beneath the bookcase and looked up. His eyes were glowing red and hollow. Morse felt sick just imagining what kind of thoughts lay behind those evil eyes. “Come on down, Morse! I promise my pretties won’t hurt you when they take what’s left of your soul. And it’s nice and peaceful where you’re going.”

Morse didn’t know whether he should stay quiet or speak up. His instincts were desperately telling him to flee. The Shadows’ close proximity was making him go mad.

His decision was made for him. Like a spider, Gull began to ascend the bookcase. Morse turned tail and fled. His disorientation made him unable to find an exit into the real world. He flitted desperately from corner to corner of the spirit realm. All was darkness and mist. All he knew was run, escape. He could hear Gull and the Shadows close behind him all the time. Gull’s maniacal laughter rang in his ears.

Morse heard the last bars of “La Traviata” playing somewhere in the dark. Desperately, he flew towards the sound, knowing Gull couldn’t follow him there.

He came out of the fog in one of the concert halls in Oxford, just in time to watch the bows. He didn’t know where he was or how to get back to Lewis.

“My name is Morse,” he murmured as his being contracted painfully. He flew out of the concert hall as fast as he could, bobbing over the busy, populated city streets of Oxford. “My name is Morse. My name is Morse.” All he knew was that he needed to find Lewis.

That’s all that mattered anymore.


	17. Chapter the Sixteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A routine crime scene turns interesting when a new piece arrives. Not all necromancers wear black these days.

Lewis’ stomach growled. Morse may have been able to live on alcohol and adrenaline alone, but his stomach had always been Republican in temperament. He set down the file he’d been looking few. The files were all nearly identical in class structure. They varied in clubs, family tragedies, and why they were under observation, but any one student could be their necromancer. It didn’t immediately jump out at him. He rested his cheek on one hand and looked over at James. “Care for a lunch break?”

“Mhm,” Hathaway replied, sitting back from the computer and stretching. “My eyes are starting to burn from the screen’s light.”

Lewis chuckled, rising from his chair with a grunt. Sometimes, sitting was just as bad for his back as bending. “Sandwiches at the pub suit?”

“Works for me. Whose round?”

“Yours, I think.”

James smiled and slipped into his jacket. As they were walking amicably down the hall (perhaps a bit closer than usual), though, Robbie’s phone rang. He reached for it and put it to his ear as they walked. “Lewis.” He slowed as the voice on the other end talked, neutral expression shifting to a frown. “Right.” He tucked away his phone. “Lunch is on hold. We’ve got another death to inspect.”

“Suspicious?” Hathaway asked, following his superior down the hall. 

“With the two of us? When are we so lucky?”

After a brief drive out to the crime scene, Lewis and Hathaway exited Lewis’ Vauxhall and stamped over to the roadside ditch where the body had been found. A rope ladder had been let down in deference to the pathologist, who was now in the pit with the body. Constables were keeping onlookers back behind the police tape. Lewis took a quick read of the crowd, looking for reporters out of habit, when he spotted something-or someone-completely out of place.

A handsome young girl, probably college age, was wearing a pastel pink frilly dress with a long sleeved, lacey blouse. Her blonde hair was tied in two loose braids, her eyes bright blue and shimmering. She was holding a large pink bag on her arm and was wearing, of all things, a pink collar with a bell attached to it. 

Pink. Morse had said their necromancer might be wearing pink. 

“Sir?” Hathaway’s voice disrupted the ringing in Lewis’ ears.

Lewis gripped Hathaway’s sleeve. “Keep an eye on the girl in the pink, look for anything out of place. I’ll see to the body.”

Hathaway nodded. Obviously, his boss was intending to use his skills at catching the details. He lit a cigarette and pretended to casually scan the crowd. Years of the job had numbed him to the shock of people’s morbid fascinations. Several people of both genders in the crowd were snapping pictures with their phones, talking to each other in excited, hushed tones. His eyes trailed over the girl, and realized immediately why Lewis had had a bad feeling.

She had ectoplasm on her shoulders; not fresh, maybe a few hours old, and a dark purple ribbon seemed wrapped around her biceps, some strands binding her shoulders together. Hathaway noted distantly that she seemed to be standing rigidly; if she could feel what bound her, that made perfect sense. Her ankles were looped with the same ribbon, and indeed, she stood with her feet close together, white Mary Janes dotted with mud and dirt. A green mist hovered close beside her; to Hathaway, it looked vaguely animal-shaped, but he could discern little else. A different green mist distracted him; it flew from her shoulder up over her head, swooping over the edge of the crowd before disappearing.

Hathaway’s eyes shot back to where the girl had been, but she was gone. Damn it. They might never find her now. He stomped out his cigarette in frustration, hoping Lewis was having better luck.

Lewis knelt before the ditch. “Hello, love,” he said casually. “What have we got?”

Laura stood and looked around her. “Is Morse…?”

“No. I doubt he’d leave the eternal veil for something so mundane as a corpse, anyway.” He could understand why Laura was hesitant, though. Morse could be a demon when he really got his teeth in something.

Laura relaxed. “Been dead about two hours. Cause of death looks to be strangulation on the surface, from behind, by someone taller, but there could also be an internal cause. You’ll have to wait for the autopsy.”

“Right.” Lewis shifted on his knees, uncomfortable. “Anything else?”

“He wasn’t killed here. SOCOs found drag marks and footprints around the edge of the ditch. He may have been dumped.”

Lewis nodded, standing up with no small effort. “Who found him?”

Laura pointed to a woman with dark hair, nervously petting a large, black, wolf-like dog. Upon closer inspection, it looked to be a service dog of some type; it had the harness of one, at any rate. “She’s anxious to go home. Sits like a soldier; I think the body triggered her PTSD.”

Lewis nodded. “I’ll go talk to her. Thanks, Laura.”

After speaking to Sgt. Patricia Alcollade, Lewis rejoined his own sergeant. “Any joy?”

“You were right to be suspicious, Sir. She had ectoplasm on her shoulders, and seemed to be bound by some sort of purple rope at her biceps, shoulders, and ankles. She also had some green mist that I’ve never seen human spirits produce. Could be animal.”

“But…animals don’t usually appear, do they?” Lewis asked, shifting his weight.

“Only when summoned, Sir. I mean, in traces like that, anyway. I’m sure you’ve seen animal spirits before.”

Lewis nodded. “Usually only where memory needs them. And they’re not intelligent hauntings, either. Summoned…” He frowned. “You think…?”

“She’d be worth looking into, if we could find her. I…I lost her.” Hathaway looked at the ground, pocketing his hands. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Don’t apologize.” Lewis clapped his arm. “We’ll find her. But no rush, eh? I’m starving. Still up for the pub?”

Hathaway smiled shyly and nodded. “Are you sure it’s okay with Laura that it’s just us?”

“Who could mind that? Anyway, I’m sure she’d love to watch us at it, given the chance.”

James tried unsuccessfully to hide his blush all the way back to the car.


	18. Chapter the Seventeenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship dynamics discussion over lunch in the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer, if you're not interested in the relationship part of the story, you may skip this chapter, as it contains no vital information.

Chapter the Seventeenth  
James knew there was something different about him from the start. Sure, he’d spent time learning how to make his body work just like every other teen his age, but he’d never found it fun to giggle over dirty magazines. He preferred his poetry and his music. Playing guitar for a worship choir was what gave him the idea that he’d like to be ordained. And, of course, priests did so much more than say mass in this day and age. They were responsible for keeping the forces of evil at bay, in order to let the love of God shine through.

A vow of chastity was the best excuse. Sex until marriage, until he was ordained or the former, and then celibacy when he was studying. He never really cared about what to call his sexuality until the LGBTQIA movement brought everything into the public eye. Hathaway heard whispers of something called “asexuality” and, after doing some research, decided he was demisexual. It seemed to fit what he’d always felt; he never could have sex casually like all his mates at Cambridge.

As he got the rounds and pub food, he thought that, while he was grateful to be loved by two of his dearest friends, they expected too much of him. He had never felt sexually inclined enough for one person, let alone two people!

Lewis must have seen the anxiety on his face, for he edged a bit closer to James in the booth. “Look, I hope you aren’t upset by what I said earlier…I was only joking.”

James hid a look of surprise in his mug. Neither he nor Robbie wore their hearts on their sleeves, and to get an apology for something as silly as a passing comment, well… “No, no. It’s not that. I didn’t mind.”

Robbie pulled his food towards him. “So, what’s on yer mind, clever clogs?”

James smiled at the nickname, warmed by both the endearment and the beer. “Just…are you and Laura sure? I mean, really sure, about…me?”

Robbie swallowed and sat back to look at him. “Aye. I mean, she an’ I talked it over. We both just happened to be polyamorous. That’s what she called it, anyways.” He sat forward to resume his meal.

“I don’t think I’ll be enough for you,” James admitted morosely, tearing a chip apart with careful fingers. “Sexually, I mean.”

Robbie chuckled and gulped his beer. “Look, James, neither of us ever said one thing about it being about sex, yeah? I thought you were the Latin authority; amor? It’s love, right?”

James smiled.

“So, it’s love first. Sex comes after, if you want it. If you don’t, Laura and I are just fine.”

“I get the feeling she wants me in on it.”

Lewis shrugged. “Pixies. Laura told me that in ancient times, before the idea of coupling, her ancestors used to live in massive colonies, and no male or female belonged to any one individual. I’m pretty sure all pixies are poly, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean, she obviously wants…” James gestured randomly. 

“A massive orgy?” Robbie supplemented, chuckling. “God help us all, if that’s what she’s after.” He downed the rest of his beer in one swallow. “Joking aside, though, we both love you, canny lad. We wouldn’t have asked you to join us if we both weren’t besotted. If the sex doesn’t appeal to you, that’s fine. Love finds a way to make things work.”

James finally ate a chip. “And jealousy?”

“Doesn’t play a part.”

“You sure?”

“Well,” Robbie stretched, “the point of relationships of any kind is to be open with your partner and talk about things that bother you, but I’m not jealous of the way Laura flirts with you. I’m certain Laura thinks you an’ I do an awful lot of flirting already.”

James snorts. “She reads too much into things.”

“She’s right about 90% of the time. Women have that irritating quality.”

That made James laugh. “So…we can talk? And…” he wrung his hands, “and…sex isn’t…expected?”

“No.” Robbie turned slightly to face Hathaway in the booth and the younger man felt himself obligated to do the same. The older man touched James’ cheek as he went on. “Look, if trying to explain things to Morse has taught me anything, it’s that our love is far from conventional. An’ people are so used to couples coming in twos that anyone who sees us altogether might judge. But, as far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t change the way Laura or I feel about you. All right?”

James nodded slowly, resting his cheek in Robbie’s palm.

Robbie smiled and, after a quick glance to make sure no prying eyes (dead or alive) were watching, pulled James down towards him for what was, effectively, their first kiss.

James melted into the kiss, tentatively kissing back and letting Robbie lead. His heart swelled, mind fogging up like steam on glass. The world around him faded away until it might as well have been he and Robbie, floating in the void.

It was over far too quickly because they had to breathe, both men close together and panting. Robbie was the first to speak. “Christ, I haven’t done that since I was a lad.”

“Kissed a man?” James giggled.

“Kissed in public, wonder boy. Now, finish your fish and chips before they get slimy and cold. We’ve got a case to solve.” Robbie lifted their glasses. “And it’s my round.”


	19. Chapter the Eighteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for the mysterious girl is interrupted by two visitors: one likely, the other unexpected.

The girl half-ran all the way back to her apartment building in the heart of Oxford. Once she was inside with the door closed and locked, she looked around her until she saw her cat and her bird. “Oh, thank heavens. Pluto, Cressida, it’s good to be home.”

The macaw on the perch crowed happily, the white cat didn’t look up from cleaning her paws. But they weren’t safe yet.

The girl felt a pull on her ropes. “Miss me?”

She gaped and turned around, only to be met with the stuff of nightmares. “Hello, Mr. Gull.”

“Stupid girl.” Gull’s mouth parted in the parody of a smile. He clenched his fists, making her fall to the floor, crying out in pain. “Were you followed?”

“No! No, I swear!”

“Where is the soul I sent you to collect?” Gull growled, rising up until his head of messy white hair touched the ceiling.

The girl shrunk down in fear, not daring to look into his eyes. She had seen into them only once before, and it had terrified her. “I…it must’ve passed on! I didn’t see it! And the police were everywhere!”

“Police?” Gull lessoned his torture and let his host rise to her feet. “Did you see a dead policeman among them? About ye high, white hair, kinda podgy?”

The girl shook her head, gathering her cat into her arms. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Mr. Gull. Why can’t you just leave?”

“Soon, my dear.” Gull replied. “I almost have enough souls, and the empath is almost mine. Once I have claimed his soul as my own, nothing will stop me!” He started to laugh.

The girl shuddered and began painstakingly rearranging her precious materials.

When Lewis and Hathaway pulled up to the station, the inspector hesitated at the wheel. James was worried that Robbie might take back what he’d said at the pub, but he was relieved to find the older man’s mind on the case at hand. “Do you think you’d know her if you saw her again?”

James was equal parts startled and relieved that he felt his brain had ground to a halt. “Huh?”

“The girl, man!” Lewis said with some frustration, pocketing his keys and getting stiffly out of the Vauxhall. “She’s looking good for our necromancer, I think. Anyway, it’s a place to start. So, if you saw her picture, would you recognize her?”

Hathaway frowned. “Maybe…I think so, Sir. But…”

“She looked college-age to me,” Robbie explained, darting into the main building. “Come on!” 

Hathaway dashed after him, but had to draw up fast to keep from bumping into his superior. “Sir?”

“Look around you.” Robbie said, eyes unmoving. “What do you see?”

Hathaway slowly swiveled his head, eyes scanning the room. Everywhere, he could see traces of ectoplasm, something that looked vaguely like blood, scratch marks…all manner of clearly spiritual detritus. 

“Your opinion.” Lewis said carefully, his stance stiffening, lowering, protective; Hathaway wondered what he was seeing. “What happened here?”

“A fight?” Hathaway asked, wondering if that’s the answer Lewis was looking for.

“I’d say that’s a good guess, lad.” Lewis stared. Before him, in the position of a lunge, was a large, black dog. It seemed like it was covered in tar, for it was dripping black goop slowly from its shoulders, tail, and paws. Its red eyes were frozen, locked in place, its mouth open in a snarl. The inside of its mouth looked more like something out of a horror film than any dog Lewis had ever seen. But it was frozen…was it harmless?

Lewis didn’t have time to even describe to Hathaway what he’d seen. The CID went completely dark. Both men, alerted to the sounds of distress, ran towards the main room in the CID. Light from the windows outside was pouring in, constables and sergeants scrambling to recover paperwork, some slamming keyboards in frustration. Chief Super Innocent was at the helm, shouting orders over the chaos. Lewis only heard, “Someone get to the breaker!” before he was off like a shot, towards his office. Hathaway followed close behind.

Through the closed blinds, Lewis could see ghostly light. He opened the door, and could only move further inside due to Hathaway nudging him gently out of the way. Once the cacophony of chaos was behind the closed door, only then did Lewis sit, still staring agape.

Morse was half-seated on the folding table next to the file box they’d been looking through earlier. He was barely strong enough to keep a visage; his form was shaking, parts of him breaking away like an old Atari game. Real, deep cuts unlike any spiritual wounds Lewis had seen before had torn into him; a bite mark seemed to have completely detached his left shoulder, the edges of the mark tinged with what looked to be a mix of blood and ectoplasm. 

Lewis knew that spirits often appeared with injuries to match physical pain they’d felt in life, or injuries they felt they’d experienced in the afterlife. Morse had not created these wounds. He spotted another bite mark around Morse’s ankle as his visage shook, part of it shattering away at random. Morse was hunched over, panting.

“Sir!”

Lewis’ voice broke the eerie silence. Hathaway could not see what Lewis saw, but given his guvnor’s face and tone, it can’t have been pleasant. 

Morse raised his head gradually. Lewis was horrified to see that his inspector’s eyes were missing, the sockets completely hollow. “Lewis…” Even his voice sounded broke, though he managed just the edge of a smile. It looked eerie without eyes. “What…what date and time…? I’ve lost all sense of it.”

“You’ve lost a lot more than that.” Lewis murmured. “Christ, what have they done…?”

“One of Gull’s,” Morse coughed hoarsely, “awful, awful dogs came through after me…I’m so sorry, Lewis.”

“Sir…” Lewis stood and walked over to his former commanding officer. “What happened?”

“I don’t know how,” Morse growled, voice almost completely deteriorated, “but he got one of the Shadows through. He’s transformed them into dogs…nasty things that really latch onto scent. I thought he couldn’t follow…I found music, Lewis! But it followed me here. I fought it off, but I don’t know how long the shield will hold…”

“You did that?” Lewis was astounded.

Morse chuckled weakly. “Apparently, I’m more powerful than I thought. Of course, I’ve only got defensive magic; damn. Useless, Morse.” His form fizzled again.

“No, defense is good,” Lewis reasoned. “We need all the help we can get. In the meantime, you look awful.” He turned to James. “Morse’s form is almost completely deteriorated, and he’s managed to hold a Shadow in place, but I don’t know for how long. What do you suggest?”

Hathaway swiveled his chair in anxious thought, then sprang up. “Pixie dust is known to do all manner of things! And I still have my Blessed Blade!”  
“Let’s get down to the morgue. Quick!” Lewis hastened.

“Oh, wonderful,” Morse groaned as he condensed his form into an orb; even in such a simple form, he was shaky and dim. “My absolute favorite place to be.”


	20. Chapter the Nineteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse finally catches a break, and our boys enlist the help of their friendly neighborhood pixie.

Laura was busy hosing down the trays in the morgue, cleaning the rest of the soap off them from their latest victim. When she’d first told her mums and dad she wanted to be a pathologist, her birth mum turned up her nose in disgust, saying that dealing with the dead was simply “not something pixies did.” However, her father, a primary school teacher, and her two other mums, one a pixie and the other a human bartender, encouraged her, and soon her birth mother came around. For Laura, it wasn’t so much that she liked looking at dead bodies, but rather that she enjoyed the puzzle of how a person was murdered. And she had gotten no end of amusement from her short association with Morse and his fear of blood and bodies. Working and falling in love with Robbie and James had been icing on the cake.

“Laura!”

Laura looked up and, upon seeing her boys in front of her, smiled. “Hello, boys.” She waltzed towards them, giving each a kiss in turn (even if she had to tug James down from quite a height…damn him). “Ready to hear the results of the autopsy?”

“Actually,” James said breathlessly, “there’s a more…pressing matter.”

Laura stepped back in surprise. “Oh?”

“Hello, doctor.” The voice was barely a whisper, a faint noise somewhere from behind Robbie; to her left, she thought.

“Oh.” Laura blushed. “Oh no. Morse.”

“Well, it’s not the reception I expected…” Morse chuckled weakly.

Laura smacked Robbie’s arm, causing him to yelp. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?!”

“Didn’t have the time!” Robbie rubbed his arm. James and Morse chuckled. “Laura, we need your help. Firstly, Morse’s visage is greatly damaged.”

“Ghosts are responsible for that, aren’t they?” Laura snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “I only get a limited supply of my dust, you know!”

“He’s been attacked, Laura,” Robbie said patiently, “by the Shadows.”

“And one of them is trapped in the lobby of CID.” James added rather awkwardly.

Laura’s eyes grew wide with fear and she backed up. “Oh God…Robbie, I thought you said they couldn’t come…?” She glared at the last place she’d heard Morse’s voice. “You were supposed to protect them, you stupid sod! You’ve ruined everything!” She shouted angrily, her body stiffening. “You can find another bloody pixie! I’m not helping you!”

“Laura…” Robbie reached out to touch her shoulder.

“No!” Laura pulled away from him, turning her back. “Morse failed. He doesn’t deserve my help.”

“No, you’re right,” Morse’s orb floated quite close so Laura could hear him in the quiet. “I don’t. I wasn’t quick enough, I couldn’t give Lewis and James more and better help. It’s my own fault, and for that, I am truly sorry. But,” He coughed, and Lewis stared in horror as the light from Morse’s orb shrank from the size of a cricket ball to that of a golf ball in seconds. His superior was fading!

“Laura!” Robbie cried desperately, clamping onto her shoulders. “Please! He’ll disappear if you don’t help him!” The words alone brought back memories Robbie would rather not have, memories of his superintendent solemnly clapping a hand on his shoulder, a violent memory of him shouting in the face of a killer the words he feared more than almost any other, a life that did not deserve to be snuffed out before his had even begun, a man he had sworn to love and protect from himself.

Laura turned at his tone and saw that his eyes were bright. Her heart softened, and her arms wrapped around his neck. “Oh, Robbie…” She pulled him close, and for a moment, Robbie allowed himself the solace of her arms. Then, he drew back.

“Please? Will you help him?”

Laura touched Robbie’s cheek, leaving pixie dust from her fingers there. “Yes, of course I will. If it means that much to you. Now.” She stepped away from him, clearly ready to work. “Where is my patient?”

Morse forced himself to appear as a human ghost. He was still badly tilted onto his good side, panting heavily and bleeding. Robbie drew a rough outline with his finger.

Laura sprinkled some of her dust around the edges, and Morse’s silhouette appeared. “If you can sit, Morse,” she directed, “that will be better. I’ll be able to see all of what I’m working with. Well, as much as my pixie dust will let me, anyway.”

Morse hesitantly sat upon one of the morgue’s tables, smiling faintly. “This reminds me of the first time Max patched me up in a morgue…” He shakes his head. “God, I was green. But it was up to me to solve the case; I didn’t have time to go to hospital and get proper stitches. Or pain killers. Damn thing kept me up all night.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Ye never told me!”

“Right, well, much as I love to hear stories of nostalgia,” Laura was currently working on patching up Morse’s bitten shoulder. “Why do you think pixie dust’ll help?”

“Pixie dust has a variety of uses,” James recited, “depending on the pixie it belongs to. And pixies are generally creatures of light.”

“Your point?”

“Your dust, which is essentially your magic, will counteract the Shadow’s damage to Morse’s visage, which was created by dark magic.”

“Morse is an empath. Aren’t they creatures of light?”

“Empaths are human.” James shrugged. “They aren’t one way or the other.”

“And me only half-pixie. You’re lucky I’ve been a good girl up until now.” Laura smirked. “So. What do you plan to do about the Shadow?”

“Morse has trapped it using defensive magic.” Robbie said with a hint of pride in his voice. “Clever clogs has a trick up his sleeve.”

James nodded. “Yes. My Blessed Blade.”

“Oh, interesting.” Morse said, feeling slightly more like himself now that his visage was nearly done being repaired. “They let you keep it, even though you left the priesthood.”

“Well…” James blushed. “…not so much let…”

Robbie chuckled. “And you act so righteous.”

“Focus, boys!” Laura straightened up from repairing Morse’s leg. “That was all the wounds I could see. Do you feel any better?”

“Thank you, doctor, I do.” Morse smiled. Lewis was pleased to see that his superior had eyes again; the soulless holes were far too creepy for his liking. “  
I’m very weak still; in need of good, strong ale.”

Robbie laughed. “Aye, when aren’t ye?”

“I’ve been dry for too long! I haven’t had a drink since you first summoned me!” Morse scolded playfully.

“The Shadow?” Laura prompted.

James nodded. “Come on. I remember where it was.”


	21. Chapter the Twentieth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rogue Shadow is encountered. Where do our heroes go from here?

Lewis led the way through the station, followed closely by his lovers and the ghost. The station was now fully lit again; Lewis could only assume Morse had taken the power temporarily in order to maintain his visage. Ghosts could feed on electricity if they so chose, and it helped them to regain strength and stamina they had lost, or never had in the first place.

However, just as they were almost at the location of the Shadow, they were stopped by Chief Superintendent Innocent. “Where in heaven’s name are you all off to?”

James discretely did his Blessed Blade in his jacket pocket. Morse’s form shuddered.

Lewis fumbled briefly for an answer, but before he could respond, Innocent butted in. “Never mind. I believe there are rumors circulating that you are a psychic?”

Lewis was so used to denying such an accusation that he replied immedietly, “What gave you that idea, M’om?”

“Well, at least I know James is.” Innocent glanced at Hathaway for backup.

But James had long since changed loyalties. “I can’t see ghosts, M’om. Only traces.”

“Then you must know this was done by a ghost. We need to find out why.”

Morse shivered. “I can’t…Robbie, the shield won’t hold forever!”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list, M’om,” Robbie said, sidestepping Innocent and dashing on down the hallway.

“Something’s up,” Innocent said, petting the nearest snake while the others nuzzled into her cheek. “But then again, when isn’t something up with those two? I’m going to regret pairing them together, that’s all I know.”

“That was close,” Laura said, peering around Robbie. “I’m surprised she didn’t notice the disembodied pixie dust.”

Morse looked down at himself. “Oh dear Lord…”

“Later!” Robbie growled. “I want this Shadow out of the nick!”

After what seemed like hours, they reached the corridor. Lewis turned to Morse. “You’ve still got a hold on it?”

Morse frowned with concentration and a fair bit of pain, but nodded. “The magic evidently gives me a headache. I hate to admit this, but I’m very weak.”

Lewis nodded to show his understood and felt sympathy. “Hold him as long as you can. We’ll do the rest.” He looked at James. “Guess now’s the time.”

“You may want to avert your eyes, Sir,” James said seriously as he dug his hand into his jacket pocket. “The light is a little bright at first reveal.” He drew from his pocket what looked like an ordinary silver pen. Latin engravings were etched onto its surface in pure gold. James flipped the pen so the tip faced upward and clicked the bottom. Instead of an ordinary pen, a large, thin blade of shining blue shot out of the tip. It was needle-thin, and the light was, indeed, blinding. Lewis and Laura shielded their eyes.

“Impressive,” Morse hummed. “I never knew vicars carried such deadly weaponry.”

“He’s amazed.” Lewis summed up. Morse gave him a long-suffering look.

“Thank you, Sirs.” James lowered the sword slightly and the light dimmed. “Sir, can you show me where the Shadow is?”

Robbie straightened up and walked over to stand in front of it. Cautiously, looking at Morse all the time, he traced the outline of the beast’s head with his finger.

Morse cleared his throat and, closing his eyes and concentrating on holding the beast, tilted his head back and made and effort to be heard. “I doubt it would be able to hurt a living body very much. However, the powerful effects of such dark ambitions would certainly be felt.”

“Meaning?” Robbie asked with remembered impatience.

“Feelings of extreme and crippling depression and anxiety would ensue. I’d imagine any human effected would feel a constricting around their heart, lungs, and any other major organs.” Morse shuddered. “Though, I don’t like to think about that.”

“Aye. Thanks for the warning.” Lewis watched wearily as Hathaway positioned himself before the beast. “Ready?”

James nodded, eyes determined, stance strong, the sword held before him. “Ready.” 

Morse collapsed and his hold on the beast collapsed with him. Lewis saw him fall out of the corner of his eye, but was more determined to watch the battle unfold. James sliced just at the moment the beast’s momentum returned, cutting its head neatly in two. The creature fell, parts writhing, sinking like mud into the ground.

James stood, panting. “Did…did I do it?”

Lewis nodded, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Aye, lad. You did.”  
Laura lunged to give James a hug, and the two embraced, laughing. Robbie knelt with some difficulty before the ghost. “You going to be okay, Sir?”

Morse nodded, straightening as Lewis came near, concealing his pain. “You’ve got a wonderful sergeant, Robbie. He’s almost as good as you were.”

“Nah,” Robbie replied modestly, smiling at the ground. “We made one heck of a team, you and me.”

“You and I, Robbie.”

Lewis shoved Morse teasingly and the ghost chuckled. Then, Lewis stood up. Laura, still arms wrapped tightly around James’s waist with James still hugging her affectionately, turned her head and rested it against his sternum, watching Robbie curiously. “So…what now?”

“Now,” Robbie said, pocketing his hands with purpose, “we find out the name of our necromancer.”


	22. Chapter the Twenty-First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The suspect finally has a name...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter at, like, 4 in the morning. Sorry for quality.

Morse and Laura watched with interest as Robbie swiftly handed files to James so he could look them over. Each file had a picture that Robbie imagined fit their Jane. He accounted for changes of hair color and style, but it was still a rather large pile.

James, for his part, critiqued each picture carefully. As he’d gotten a better look at their suspect, he needed to make sure his identification was spot-on.

Presently, after about ten files, James sat back. “That’s her.” He dropped the file neatly on his desk with a smack.

Robbie slid the file off his desk. “You sure?” Even as he spoke, he knew it was, despite not getting as good a look. She felt right in a way the others didn’t.

James nodded. “I could see remnants even in her picture. Eerie.”

“What’s a remnant?” Laura asked.

“Remnants,” Morse answered, “are what gets left behind by spirits when they’re summoned by two-bit conjurors.” He looked at James. “Are they human remnants?”

James shook his head. “Not like I’ve ever seen. Animal, probably.”

“Argo Merina.” Robbie read aloud from her file. “Cautioned for possession of dead matter and suspended twice on suspicion of grave robbing. Gives her address; she’s an Oxford lass, by the look of things. The address looks like student housing.”

“Argo…” Morse hummed. “Like the ship.”

“Aye. Parents these days come up with a lot worse than your name, Sir.”

Morse glared as Laura piped up, “What is his name, anyway? Everyone just called him Morse.”

Robbie shrugged modestly. “I found out by accident. It’s not my secret to tell.”

Morse let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Lewis.”

“You won’t even tell your lover? No fair.” Laura pouted exaggeratedly. 

James chuckled. “I don’t envy being a part of that argument.”

“We were friends, too, as well as partners.” Robbie insisted defensively. “He didn’t tell us of his own accord, and even if he had, a man’s allowed to die with secrets he’d rather not share! Now,” he straightened up, “James, you and I are off to this address. Laura, can you type up the autopsy reports and get them up to me as soon as you can?”

Laura grinned. “That, I can do.” She kissed Robbie’s cheek. “Don’t you two be going wild without me, now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” James teased, bending to accept a kiss from Laura as well.

“Let’s go,” Robbie said with some impatience. “If Shadows can break through the veil, we may not have much time left to prevent a full-scale invasion!”


	23. Chapter the Twenty-Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will James and Robbie find in Argo's room? Will it turn out to be more than they can handle?

Lewis and Hathaway made it to the student apartments in record time. It only took a minute to find Argo’s room, though it left Lewis cursing the young after the second flight of stairs.

Lewis’ only consolation was that Hathaway was breathing just as hard as he was by the time they reached the top. “It’s a long way to run,” Lewis commented, loosening his tie.

Hathaway nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He pointed weakly. “There,” he wheezed. “Number nine. Argo Merina’s room.”

Lewis straightened himself up, reigning in his breath as he knocked. “Miss Merina? Police?”

“It’s locked from the inside.” 

“Gah!” Lewis jumped away from the door in surprise, leaving Hathaway staring in confusion. “Nearly gave us a heart attack, Sir!”

“My apologies, Lewis.” Morse was half through the door and half inside the room, explaining what had given Robbie a fright. There were some specks of pixie dust still on him, but they were hard to see in the dim light of the hall. Hathaway only just barely caught a twinkle or two. He hid a chuckle behind his hand; Robbie’s look of exasperation was priceless. “There was nothing to do, so I tagged along.”

“Right.” Lewis began in a skeptic tone, and then understanding dawned. “Right. The Shadows’d tear you apart if you went back now!” 

“That, and I very much did not want to be back in the morgue. Laura cannot see me, anyway, so it’s not much fun.” He slid back through the door. “I’ll undo the lock, shall I?”

“Ye can do that?” Robbie asked, pocketing his hands.

“Yes. It takes very little effort to manipulate simple physical objects, like locks and doors.” An audible click sounded. “There we are. Do come inside.”

Hathaway reached around Lewis and opened the door, letting the inspector precede him. The interior at first glance held the typical comforts of home-away-from-home. Posters of a pop group hung over the bed, along with a dreamcatcher hung on the headboard. The comforter was a pale pink with lace that reminded Robbie of a bedding they’d used for Lyn when she was a baby. A white wicker chair was pulled up to a metal desk that included a laptop with many stickers on it, some textbooks, papers, and small stuffed animals. Another shelf nearby held other stuffed animals, arranged with the precision of a collector, and recreational books; smallish volumes in paperback, mostly. A few of the recent craze of fantasy novels were in hardback. The typical dorm room for the most part, except…

A wire birdcage that looked to be gathering equal parts rust and dust stood sentential at the foot of the bed. The breeze coming in through the window over the desk made it creak on its metal hinge. A small manner of detritus lay at the foot of the cage; bedding, maybe. There was also a cat bed near the bookshelf. A few cat toys were scattered around. But, alas, no cat.

“Any joy?” Robbie asked over his shoulder. He was studying the books on Argo’s shelf, but all looked to be recent fantasy or comics. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“She’s got one textbook on the dark arts. Necromancy chapter is quite well-thumbed.” James straightened up from peering over her desk. “I don’t like this, Sir. It smells like there’s been a bird here recently, but…no bird.”

“Aye. It smells of cat, too.” Robbie gestured to the empty bed. “No cat.”

James opened up the closet and was greeted by an array of child-like clothing; frilly, lacy dresses, bloomers, and blouses, all in a variety of pastel shades. He bent down. “Sir?”

Robbie leaned over his shoulder. Hidden in the base of the closet was a crude altar. Candles (unlit, currently, but the wick was black, indicating they had been burnt), an incense jar, a few polished stones, and…

“Bones.” Robbie said. He could feel Morse at his shoulder.

James nodded. “I can see remnants on them. But they don’t look human to me.”

“Animal.” Morse said quietly. “It always starts with animals.”

Robbie straightened with a grunt for his back while James carefully placed the bones into a crime scene bag. Morse began to pace.

“Necromancy is tempting. It goes against what fate decided, and attempts to bring back what was lost. What returns is neither human, nor animal. It is loyal, but commanding it could drive summoner mad. The only thing to do is to destroy it before it causes harm.”

“You have experience with necromancy?” Robbie crossed his arms over his chest.

“Strange and I both lost a friend. It was before I was a chief inspector, long before you were ever in Oxford, Lewis. He was hanged. They don’t even hang people; it’s barbaric. But, the court decided, and that’s what was done.”

“They only hang if it’s a heinous crime,” James recited. “Necromancy is right up there.”

“Anyone who’s ever lost someone considers necromancy.” Morse said wisely. “It is the most tempting dark art of all.”

James scoffed, but was shocked to see Robbie nodding. “You, Sir?”

Robbie smiled sadly. “After I first lost Val, I thought, ‘I would do anything to bring her back. To have my Val in me arms again.’ But I knew that, no matter what, it wouldn’t be Val. So I never did it, o’ course. But I thought. So did everyone.”

“There was a reason I was determined to be cremated,” Morse added gravely. “I was afraid Strange would…” He looked away, uncomfortable with his past. “…At any rate…unless I am missing something, I don’t see human bones.”

Lewis felt a distinct chill in the air that wasn’t Morse. The atmosphere changed, shifting to something darker, more sinister. The air grew closer, harder to breathe. He looked to the door. Morse’s gaze followed, and fear alighted in his eyes.

“Oh no.”

Lewis tried to compose himself, but couldn’t force the shock and horror away. 

Argo Merina stood at the door, eyes empty, body deprived of the light of the living. Behind her, one clawed hand on her shoulder, stood a gangly, thin man with wild white hair, eyes blood red, and a smile that could poison on contact.

“Ah,” Robbie said, finding his voice at last, “You must be Mason Gull.”


	24. Chapter the Twenty-Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight that ends not quite as expected, and another fight which ends predictably.

Mason Gull swiveled his head towards Robbie, Argo’s head turning in the same direction. “Ah, so nice to be recognized! Morse, I’m flattered you told him at long last! We go way back, don’t we?” Gull’s voice echoed to Ronnie’s ears, but Hathaway could only hear one voice.

“Argo is speaking!” James said, rather stupidly.

Morse nodded. “Gull never did make it easy for his victims. Always made them suffer.”

“She’s alive?” James sighed in relief. Good. What he hated more than anything in this job was to see young lives cut tragically short. Sometimes, it was almost too much for him.

“Barely.” Morse shook his head. “Captive, unable to speak for herself, move her own body. Gull has complete control. All she can do is watch.”

“Possession gone wrong.” Robbie murmured.

“Horribly so.” Morse agreed.

“Well, I’ve had so much fun,” Gull said, in the tone a spoiled person might use when announcing they are about to leave a party, “but I’m afraid our little game ends here. I didn’t have time for puzzles, unfortunately. Morse would be able to tell you both how much I adore them!” He giggled, a high-pitched, maddening sound, only made worse by Argo’s tinny laugh echoing behind his. “Or, well, not any more. You see, I don’t need party poopers ruining my fun.” Gull advanced into the room. “Time to say bye-bye.”

“I’ll hold him off,” Morse stepped in front of James and Robbie. “You two get out of here. Now!”

“No.” Robbie stepped up beside Morse. “He’ll kill you! All over again! There has to be a way…!”

“Robbie, no!” Morse cried, but it was too late.

With a gutteral war cry, Lewis barreled into Argo. The petite girl went down easily under Lewis’ weight, kicking and screaming, clawing at Lewis’ cheeks. Then, she began to cry, and that was without the echoes of Gull’s voice.

Robbie, being a father of a teenage girl once, sat back, moved by her tears. Hathaway pulled Lewis off of the girl and stood momentarily stunned, watching her cry.

“Go!” Morse shouted angrily as Gull raised his hands. Darts formed in the air and would have hit Lewis and Hathaway if Morse had not intercepted them with his shield. “The best thing you can do is leave! I’ll be okay!”

“Sir! I’m not leaving you!” Robbie cried, fighting his way out of James’ grip. “I can’t! Not again!”

“It’s for your own safety.” Morse nodded at James, fully aware James couldn’t see him. “Go. Get him out of here.”

James muscled his superior out of the room, running with his down the steps. Lewis protested angrily, crying out desperately for Morse. It nearly broke James’ heart to do it, but he knew he had to, to keep Lewis alive and safe.

In the car, on the way back to the nick, Robbie was sullen in silence. Once they had reached their shared office, he exploded. “I shoulda stayed wif him! Shoulda been fighting by his side!” He smacked his palm on his desk.

“And what?” Hathaway rounded. “Been killed yourself?!”

“Morse will die in there,” Robbie growled. “I let him down!”

“Morse is already dead!” James shouted, crossing the room in a huff. “The least you could do is look out for yourself!”

“Aye, I can do jes fine without yer help, thank ye!” Robbie growled, falling into his chair. “An’ close the door on yer way out!”

“Gladly!” James slammed the door shut, the glass rattling in its frame. Feeling emotional and needing to clear his head, he made for the nearest exit, reaching for his lighter before he hit the doors.

Robbie put his head in his hands and pulled at his hair. Damn, he hadn’t meant for his temper to get the better of him. But he was still bloody worried; for all Morse acted strong, Robbie could tell when his superior was weak.

And Morse was badly in need of rest.


	25. Chapter the Twenty-Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse fights for his life, and James fights to understand his superior. There may also be a break in the case.

Morse solemnly watched the retreating backs of the two men. Good, Lewis was no longer in danger. Val would be proud of him. He heard Gull laughing, and his eyes snapped back to him.

“Just dying for some alone time with me, Morse? Aww.” Gull cooed.

“You’re clearly here already,” Morse replied bitterly. “What do you need my soul for?”

“It’s the final piece, you see,” Gull answered with the casual tone of a man who knows he has won. “Once I have absorbed your soul, I will become a powerful being, a god that no one will dare to stand against! And this world will pay for letting me rot behind bars.”

Morse didn’t like the sound of that. He swallowed. Gull raised his hand, commanding his Shadow-dogs to come to him. He seemed to be opening rifts in the air; that explained how the Shadows had gotten into the real world. 

The dogs lunged at him. Morse held up a shield of magic, but the Shadows were strong, and he was weak. The shield cracked and fell apart at every impact, so More had to repair it before he could block another attack. His visage was fading, he panting, exhausted. But he took the electricity from the room and kept advancing. He had to get away. He couldn’t let Gull get his soul without a fight.

He hoped that James had taken Robbie home. The Shadows would not come when there was love to protect him.

As he shielded himself this time, Morse let himself sink into the floor, then flew away at top speeds, knowing the Shadows were close behind him.

Love. Love was his last hope for survival.

 

The doors of the morgue opened with a bang. Laura started and glanced up. “Oh, it’s you, James. I thought a ghostly visitor was showing his distaste for my profession.” She smiled, but James looked troubled. “What’s wrong, love?”

James sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s Robbie. I…” He looked away. “He’s mad at me. For saving his life, of all things! I just…” He ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

Laura took off her gloves and fetched a bag of candy from her pocket. “You’d better tell me everything. Do you want a toffee?”

James shook his head. “I…we went to investigate Argo Merina’s apartment, but we found out that Mason Gull had already possessed her. She’s our necromancer. Morse was there. He…” James tapped his fingers against his elbow. “I think he knew there’d be trouble. He told me to take Robbie away, so I did! And now Robbie’s mad I didn’t let him stay with Morse.”

Laura thought a moment, swallowing the candy in her mouth. Then, she spoke. “Would you be thrilled to be dragged from Robbie’s side?”

“No!” James looked as if a horn had sounded close to his ear. “I’d never leave Robbie’s side when he needed me!”

“Morse was Robbie’s guv, for a far longer time than he’s been yours.” Laura explained calmly, resting a hand on James’ wrist. “And, if anything that Max DeBryn told me while I was still training here had any merit at all, Robbie wanted to work with Morse from Day One. Their partnership ran deep, and I had the brief pleasure of seeing it at work.”

James hazarded a guess. “Robbie loved him. Didn’t he?”

“And I’m fairly certain sentiments were returned.” Laura nodded. “Yes. They loved each other. So, think about your answer, and then put yourself in Robbie’s shoes. Could you so easily leave your superior, and someone you love?”

“But he’s dead!” James protested. “Nothing else bad can happen to him!”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t the Shadows absorbing him be a cruel fate?”

James sighed. “And…I guess Robbie’d never see Morse again if…”

“Exactly.” Laura tugged James down and kissed him affectionately. “If there’s still trouble brewing later, come and see me. I’ll set Robbie right. But you did the right thing, bringing him back alive. Morse would’ve wanted that, and he’ll see that in time.”

James smiled and kissed Laura back. Then, he retreated to the office he shared with his boss and lover.

When the door opened, Robbie glanced up. “I’ve been going over the recent murder,” he said without preamble. Apologies could wait, and besides, he was only going to apologize for snapping. He felt no remorse for his desire to stick by his guv. “The perp was someone taller. I’m going to bet you anything it was Gull who killed him.”

“Hard to prove a ghost committed murder,” James said dryly. 

“It’s off the cuff, I’ll give you that, but not impossible. Morse said he could manipulate simple objects. We already know Gull possesses without thought.”

James perked up. “The body of our ‘murderer’ is somewhere out there.”

“And how much you wanna bet Gull made Argo bury the body?”

James nodded, and then his face fell. “Too bad we can’t bring her in for questioning.”

Robbie sighed. “Square one again.”

“Not exactly, Sir,” James piped up. “We have the information that we need. And we can talk to Argo’s friends to get our story straight.”

“If she has any.” Robbie said darkly. “But, yes, good thinking. We’ll talk to friends and teachers, see if that gets us anywhere. Well done, canny lad.”

James smiled and followed Robbie out of the office.


	26. Chapter the Twenty-Fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find Morse, but how intact is he? What exactly is Gull's plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually one of the first chapters of Visage I wrote! So if it has a little bit of...extra information, please forgive me.

It was late that night when Robbie began to wonder if he should give up and go home. Statements about Argo said mostly the same things: private, tragic, kept to herself, odd. She didn’t seem to have many friends, no boyfriend, no girlfriend, and nothing to go on. Much like his stomach.

“I haven’t felt Morse around, sir. Do you think he’s all right?”

James could only sense spirits, not see them, though he could see and feel the traces they left. Being without Morse after getting accustomed to the ghost’s presence in the small, enclosed office must have felt like air getting sucked out of a vacuum.

Lewis tried not to let on that he was worried. Not seeing Morse after having to leave him made him feel sick to his stomach. He tried to tell himself Morse was just being dramatic. He tried humor, though it fell a bit flat, “Miss your poetry buddy, aye?”

James huffed a breath through his nose, what passed for a chuckle most days, and slowly shook his head. “No, just…wondering. It feels weird without him around.”

“I figured that. Must be hard not to get the whole picture.”

“I make do. It’s scarier when the ghosts are less intelligent, and you don’t know if they’re going to hurt you or not.” 

Lewis could sympathize, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine. “I am worried. Didn’t feel right to leave him when he was weak like that.” He tried not to sound too bitter as he stood up, grunting; old age was not graceful in the slightest. After all, he was grateful to Hathaway for saving his life. “I’ll bet Morse went to my flat. D’ya want to come along?”

Hathaway stood, shrugging into his coat, and the two men filed quietly out of the office, shutting off the lights behind them.

Lewis’ flat was not far, and inspector and sergeant could’ve walked if they both didn’t have cars to think about. At this time of night, Oxford was quiet, its denizens all tucked in for the night, safe in their beds. 

Lewis unlocked the bottom floor of the flat block and they walked up the short flight of stairs to the landing, where the first door on the right would lead to the inspector’s flat. James felt the wrong before he saw it; looking at Robbie, he could see the other man’s apprehension. The older man turned the key in the lock and pushed the door to.

What greeted them both was a horrific abomination. Void-like black and shimmery purple pulsating goop stuck in large clumps on the ceiling, curled around cabinets, inhabiting every flat surface, seeming to eat away at the room. Veins in sickening, otherworldly red shot out from the different nests, making a spider’s web across the ceiling and floor. The mass emitted a loud pulsing, like a car with the bass turned up too high, or an anxious heartbeat hot in the chest. It permeated every sense, paralyzing the two for a moment.

Robbie was the first to notice. “Sir!”

In the center of the room, just shy of the coffee table, the goop was holding Morse. Two figures seemed to be hugging each other on either side of the ghost, gleefully pulling at what counted for flesh on ghosts. Morse himself looked barely there, suspended like a statue, frozen in midair, arms outstretched, feet together, ghostly bones evident under a thin layer of ghostly skin. His eyes had no pupils and his mouth was open in a wordless cry of anguish, the horrible goop dripping out from between his teeth. His ghostly glow was faint, pulsing with light to try and dispel the darkness, but it barely affected the Shadows now, close as they were to consuming him. 

James looked around him, barely hearing his guv’s cry of anguish as the older man bounded across the room with unexpected speed and began talking at the ghost he could clearly see. The sergeant scanned the ceiling, walls, and floors for anything useful, and spotted some symbols that he recognized as writing, but couldn’t read himself, for all his training. He took out his mobile and took a few snaps. 

“James! Pour some beer and get the Wagner record in the turntable! Do it now!”

James snapped out of his thoughts at the desperate tone of his superior and quickly poured a glass of beer and dashed across the room to turn the Wagner up as loud as it could go without disturbing the neighbors. All they could do was wait now. But the waiting game was hard for everyone. Hathaway had to look away, the emotion making him uncomfortable, but he could hear Lewis recounting memories that he and the ghost had shared, trying to bring him back.

Robbie was clinging onto Morse, as much as he could cling, tears and panic mounting. Desperate thoughts of, I can’t lose him again! returned from earlier, flooding his mind, making his breathing shallower, the tears falling freely now. Come back to me, sir. Please. He was talking a mile a minute, hoping that Morse would hear him. It couldn’t end, not like this! Damn it, they’d scraped by on less of a prayer than this! They’d make it out all right.

Slowly but surely, the combination of music, beer, and Lewis moved the immobile prisoner. Gradually, Morse blinked, shaking the Shadows feeding on him, shedding the goop like a coat, sputtering and coughing as the goo left his mouth. The Shadows slunk off his person, but remained threateningly in the room, a warning if Lewis had ever seen one.

Even for a ghost, Morse looked pale, his appearance greatly skeletal and sickly. His cheekbones were sickles, though the lack of skin almost made his face look younger. His hair was frazzled, more so than usual, and his form seemed incomplete, shaky at the edges like poor satellite connection on the telly. His clothes hung off his body badly and, only in shirtsleeves, he looked wrong somehow. But, he was present, and that was what mattered. “…Lewis?” His voice was grating and faint, a whisper mingling with wind.

Robbie let out a single sob in relief. “Bloody hell, sir.” And he hugged him. As much as he could, he hugged him. Lewis had the gift of solidity; ghosts felt like actual concrete forms when he touched him, albeit they were cold as ice. Morse was no exception, especially for being so weak; it was like hugging an ice sculpture. But God, did he cling. He never would’ve dared to, usually, but he felt these circumstances more than warranted it, and Morse returned the hug enthusiastically, holding him close.

Hathaway turned down the music, still feigning polite interest in his superior’s music collection, and politely ignoring the tear trails on his guv’s face.

Morse, bewildered by the affection, hugged Robbie back as best he could. He felt awful; cold and achy and (ha) lifeless. His weakened form devoured the love and relief and friendship in the room, gradually making him feel a bit better. His empathic senses alighted on Lewis’ feelings; abandonment, fear, sorrow, dread, relief. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said gently, resting tiredly on Lewis’ shoulder. “I’m right here. Shh. It’s all right.”

“God, I thought I lost yeh,” Robbie murmured, too softly for James to hear. “I’m too old to have too scares like this in one day.” 

Morse smiled. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, old friend. You should know that by now.”

Robbie chuckled uneasily and pulled away, finally wiping the remaining tears away. Morse rested his hand on Lewis’ cheek briefly before remembering how cold he would feel and drawing back. His own comfort could wait, though all his senses were begging him to take, to feed on the electricity in the room, to feed on the two men here, to take what he needed and regain his strength. Instead, barely able to float, he forced himself to be heard.

“Hello, James.”

“Hello, sir.” Hathaway replied, finally turning towards his guv and the deceased inspector. The young man looked into the only eyes he could see, begging for an explanation.

“The Shadows caught up with him. They fed off of him; looks like they just about finished him off.”

Morse scoffed audibly. “Yes, thank you, Lewis. Now that you’ve explained how helpless I am…” The ghost turned to James. “You seem thrumming with discovery. Let’s hear it.”

“I took these,” James holds out his phone in the direction Robbie directs and Morse peers to look at the screen. “I think they’re writing…symbols? A message? I can’t make it out.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be able to. It’s corrupted deadspeak.” It’s taking all of Morse’s strength to be heard; it makes him feel dizzy, and his chest aches with the remembered pain of heart attack; his cause of death. “Only the dead can read it. But good on you for recognizing it; they taught you something in the Church. Deadspeak is a mixture of Latin and Greek characters with death markings throughout. It’s corrupted, though…I can make out syllables but not words.” He frowns. “Eour e…something. I’ll be able to read it…”

“Well?” James senses the “but” before Lewis.

Morse falls to an inaudible range without realizing. “I have to merge with them again.” He gestures to the Shadows.

Robbie’s eyes are wide, horrified. “No, you’re not!”

At James’ confusion, Robbie explains, and the sergeant joins the chorus. “No! That’s not a good idea! I didn’t witness all that just now, but I know that can’t be good!”

“You can’t see yourself,” Robbie argues. Pleas, really. The pain in Morse’s chest expands to his shoulder, and it’s not just remembered death this time that does it; the tone of his sergeant is enough to cause anyone pain. “You look terrible. If you go back there again, you’ll cease to be.”

Morse takes advantage of Lewis being the only one who can hear him. “I promise I’m stronger than I look.” That, at least, is true. Empathy draws lines to the people one loves most, and a very thick rope has been wrapped around Lewis’ wrist from Day One. “I’m going to come back to you. I’m not going to leave you alone. All right?” He stretches out a thin, bony hand. Lewis takes it automatically, and Morse relishes the warm love and caring worry that radiates from his sergeant’s hand. “Do you trust me?”

Robbie nods. “Against my better judgment as always, sir.”

Morse smiles kindly, squeezing Lewis’ hand as best as he can. Lewis squeezes back, and then Morse touches the Shadows.  
His pupils roll up into his head and immediately, the ghost starts trembling, the Shadows crawling up his arm, licking him. They can touch him, but they can’t feed from him. Not with all the love around. Morse reads from the images on James’ phone.

“Argo is his. Return to the Master. We have all we need.” Morse’s voice is hoarse and echoes slightly. The words are repeated, but become less like English and more like animalistic growls as the Shadows try harder to feed. 

Hathaway starts praying. It’s nothing fancy, just The Lord’s Prayer in Latin; a basic beginner’s course in Rituals. But it works, and the Shadows retreat, taking their loud pulsating with them. 

Morse’s ghost, only a faint suggestion of energy, floats as if lost somewhere between planes.

Lewis frowns; Morse needs to gain back his energy and do it quickly. “We’re going to the station. Sir, you’re coming with us.”

“I don’t really have a choice in the matter,” Morse says wearily, but he follows the two psychics out of Lewis’ flat, closing the door behind them.


	27. Chapter the Twenty-Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse starts to feel better with a little help from his friends.

Morse is hungry. Desperately, desperately hungry. He wonders how, without a functioning stomach, he can feel hunger as he follows Lewis and Hathaway into the darkened CID. He knows these walls by heart in any age, could memorize the way they twist and turn with ease. Upstairs, downstairs, one floor or two, he could navigate it if it was turned upside down and twisted sideways. He’s seen the CID redecorated four times in his lifetime, and in the afterlife, this makes five. This building and all it represents is as much his home as his own house was.

He can’t get away from the desire to feed. He knows it’s because he’s weak, barely able to sustain a form. He’s pushing himself even now, when all he really wants to do is fade away into limbo, to finally be put to rest…

But he knows there won’t be rest. The minute he leaves Lewis and Hathaway, the Shadows will pounce and consume him.

He never felt this hungry while he was alive. The desire for “food” is making his head spin. 

Morse enters the shared office of Lewis and Hathaway. Everything here oozes familiarity and easy companionship; he’s elated to know Lewis can find the same camaraderie in his sergeant that he’d found in the now-inspector so long ago. 

Lewis turns on his desk lamp and Hathaway does the same. Morse gladly touches his fingers to the bulb on Lewis’ lamp first, sucking the electricity from the bulb and absorbing it into himself. The warmth of the lamp and the sizzling of the electricity he’s “eaten” provides him with some energy, and he feels marginally better. Soon, he’ll be able to at least put on more of a front to keep Lewis was worrying; he’s exhausted beyond repair, no denying that. But getting drunk off the two men’s interactions tomorrow will go a long way towards energizing him once more. 

He “eats” the energy from Hathaway’s lamp next and flexes his wrists. He feels better, and he begins to repair his visage, watching himself in the clean glass. He fixes his face first, filling out the sickles of cheekbones and watching them slide under familiar skin. Then he fixes his hands and wrists, traveling up his arms. His clothes fit him a bit better now, and he looks more familiar, or, at least, it’s a vision that would be familiar and comforting to Lewis; Morse accepted getting old, but he missed the virile body of his youth. 

But even so, the ghost equivalent of a stomach growl remains, twisting what would count as innards. Morse sits heavily in a chair, sighing deeply. He closes his eyes a moment, but opens them to find Lewis’ outstretched arm inches from him, white underarms exposed. “Feed from me,” Lewis implores, eyes watchful and worried. Morse can feel Lewis’ emotions from where he sits, but he touches briefly anyway; self-sacrifice, confidence, hesitation, desperation. “Please, sir.” Lewis’ eyes are wide, soft, and Morse looks into the face of his friend, now much older than he remembers, and can see the soft eyes of his young sergeant looking back at him.

He will not be responsible for sucking the life out of those eyes. 

“I don’t need it,” he reassures his friend, even though everything in him is urging him on, telling him he does need it if he wants any shred of normalcy in his afterlife. The Shadows took a lot out of him; he’s there, but not all there. “I’ll be fine.”

Hathaway stands and stretches out his arm in the general direction of Morse. “Take mine, Sir. I’d be honored.”

Morse makes the extra effort to be heard. “James…that’s kind…but I’m really fine.” The young man holds such promise, and he’s good for Lewis besides. Morse will not take that spark from him.

“You both don’t understand.” He says quietly. “You’ll feel cold…feeding a ghost straight from the source like that…it isn’t good for humans. Takes the spark out of them. I wouldn’t do that to either of you.”

Lewis pulls back, knowing Morse enough to know the man’s convictions, and knowing enough about ghosts to know his words ring true. “But you are weak.”

“I am. But my ties to you will help. Getting drunk off of your lovely human feelings will do wonders.” He smiles kindly at Lewis. “Now. I am exhausted and need rest. I presume the two of you are in no better shape.”

Robbie and James share a look. “My place is closer.” Robbie says.

“You don’t think Laura will…?”

“Nah. If anything, she’d understand. We’re not doing anything but sleeping, besides.” Robbie stands, yawning. “C’mon, clever clogs and dead poet. Up you come.”

“I’m thankful at least you don’t call me ‘Pagan’.” Morse says with utmost fondness as James wraps a long arm around Robbie’s shoulder and the older man mirrors the gesture around the slim lad’s waist. 

The ghost doesn’t quite understand what Dr. Hobson-Laura-affectionately calls a “sandwich,” but Robbie has someone-two someones-to love, and that is all that really matters in the end.


	28. Chapter the Twenty-Seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships and plans are discussed, and important information is revealed over breakfast.

Morse hadn’t gotten much rest, but that was nothing new. Rarely when presented with a puzzle or problem did his mind find the space to rest or recline. It was often his body that would nod off without his permission, mind still whirring, especially as he aged, and he would awaken with a start later on with a stiff neck and aching back, not really recalling falling asleep.

With no physical body to force rest, however, Morse could puzzle himself into the early hours of the morning. True to their word, Lewis and Hathaway had not—well, playful word was “romped.” They had simply stripped down to undershirts and pants and crawled into bed. Morse had not wanted to watch, due to propriety. And besides, both men could sense, if not see, his presence. Voyeurism was a lost cause when your objects were psychics. 

However, Morse found himself greeting the rising sun with new energy. He felt more determined, somehow. And Morse was very good at running on adrenaline. As an empath, he would be able to feel the calming emotions of the two men—lovers—waking up and making nice over coffee and sharing showers and breakfasts. He was looking forward to it, though not just for the much-needed recharge. A chance to see Robbie happy was worth a thousand lifetimes. He couldn’t bear to see, or feel, Robbie’s sadness for long. The man felt deeply, and, due to Morse’s ties, his emotions cut deep.

Morse heard the padding of bare feet on hardwood floors and rose to see James exiting the bedroom with a contented stretch.

“Good morning.” Morse said cordially.

“Sleep well?” James yawned and padded to the kitchen island. 

“Not at all.” Morse found satisfaction in the fact that such a remark made James smirk. “And yourself?”

“Well. Thanks.” James opened cabinets and drawers confidently, puttering around in the act of making coffee. “It, em, helps to be near someone. Sleeping, I mean. And I get more out of the platonic, but…”

“I understand,” Morse replied, chuckling. “Robbie will tell you I spent a lot of time trying to bed women. And it was for more than sex, I assure you. Although that did feature heavily.”

James huffed a soft laugh. “I gathered.” He flicked on the coffee pot. “Did you love him?”

Morse was startled by the question. “I beg your pardon?”

“Robbie.” James said, staring at his hands clutching the granite counter. He rocked slightly back, shifting his weight on his feet. “Did you love him?”

“May I ask what’s brought this on?” Morse was stalling and doing a bad job of it. If James was a good policeman, as Morse suspected he was, then he’d know this. 

But if James had sussed him out, he made no comment. “It was something Laura said. It was clear to her that he felt for you, and that…’sentiments were returned’.”

“I,” Morse began carefully, “have never felt for men what I do—did—for women.”

James smiled. “There are different ways to identify ‘love’, Sir. And there are more names for it now than there were then.”

“And more than I can fathom. You are all…poly…what?”

“Polyamorous.” James chuckled, thinking it was quite obvious Morse found modernity difficult to “fathom.”

“Right, that. So…you’re the modern man. What do you think?”

“Sexually, I’d hazard to guess you are heterosexual. Straight.”

“Yes, I’m aware of both terms, ad you are right. But I sense a ‘but’.”

“Biromantic?” James guessed, looking up at where he thought the ghost might be.

James was off by a few centimeters, but Morse felt he could keep this victory. “Feeling love for two sexes, but not sexual love for one.”

“So you did love him.”

“I had more propriety than Lewis may have credited me for. I did not pursue the married, even if I wanted to.” Morse shrugged; James could probably hear it in his voice. “Even if things were different, Robbie loved Val. Still does, I’m sure. And if we ended badly, I could’ve lost my sergeant forever.”

“I never would’ve betrayed you like that.”

James started and the ghost turned. Robbie was stood at the door in a tattered robe, hair mussed from sleep, but eyes bright and alert, face shocked. 

“Robbie…”

“None o’that matters now. It’s all said and done. But give me the credit I deserve, Sir. I loved ye.” Robbie sighed. “And, ya old sod, ye could feel it every time we touched.”  
“Are you angry?” Morse asked. He had to know. “Are you mad that I never pursued it?”

“No.” Robbie shook his head, smiling fondly. “I could never stay mad at yeh for long. Me weakness.”

Morse chuckled softly.

“But it woulda been nice to know the candle burned at both ends, aye?”

Morse adopted a suitably stern look. “Oh, come, Robbie. Did you not think us friends?”

Robbie grinned. “The best of, Sir.”

“Coffee?” James asked, straightening his shoulders and resting all his weight on his right hip. 

“Be lovely. Thanks, James.” Robbie seated himself at the island.

Morse stood by while Robbie and James chatted about nothing and took turns showering. In the end, they decided to call Laura and tell her to come round with a change of clothes for James. She arrived while James was showering and Robbie was changing. Thus, Morse opened the door.

Laura started. “Well! I guess I’ll pretend I’ve got the spare key.”

Robbie stepped out, shirt mostly buttoned but no tie. “Hallo, love.” He kissed her cheek. “Something smells lovely.”

“It ought to. I brought breakfast.” Laura grinned proudly, accepting the kiss. Morse smiled in amusement; clearly here was the “pants” of the relationship. “James showering?”

“Aye, luv. Knock before entering?”

“When have I ever been one to barge in?” Laura set a few containers of Tupperware and a shopping bag on the island and set off with James’ clothes. Despite being errands girl, she seemed unaffected by their night without her. Morse said as much.

“We texted.” Robbie made a typing motion with his thumbs. “I let her know James was spending the night at mine, and that nothing was going to happen; just that it was convenient.”

“She trusted you?”

Robbie gave him a look. “It doesn’t work without trust.”

“No, I imagine not.” Morse frowned. “I still find it all so confusing…”

Their ears were alerted to some giggling from the loo. “I’ll pour you a beer, Sir. Look like you could do with it.” Robbie headed to the fridge and poured Morse a tall cold one. 

“Thank you.” Morse toasted Lewis while his former sergeant fixed himself a towering plate of hot crepes, sausage, and toast. Chewing, Lewis lifted his fork as a mute “cheers.”

Laura and James appeared from the loo, the latter looking quite flushed. The lady pathologist glared at Robbie in a teasing sort of manner (presumably for digging in early) and smacked his arm playfully, to which Robbie elbowed in her general direction.

“Anyway,” Laura said in a bossy tone which Morse remembered well. “Eat up, boys! I can guess how much you’ve had to eat since the case began, and I will not have you both starved and incompetent on my watch!”

“Thanks,” James said at the same time Robbie said, “Thanks, luv.”

Laura helped herself to a bit of toast, slathered generously with honey, while James plated a few crepes and a sausage. Robbie was going back for more bacon and toast.

“Warms my heart to see healthy appetites on my boys!” Laura cooed, smiling attractively. Age had not taken that from her, Morse was pleased to note. “Sorry, Morse. I don’t know how to feed a spiritual stomach.”

“Thank you; I’m fine with my offering of beer.”

Laura leaned closer to James and Robbie. “Well? What did you find?”

“We know for sure our Miss Merina is our necromancer.” Robbie began between generous mouthfuls. “We found bones in her room. Probably animal.”

“Remnants on the bones suggested attempts at reanimation,” James supplemented. “We didn’t see any…creatures, despite evidence to the contrary.”

“I don’t imagine you would.” Morse said solemnly. “Animals have weaker souls than humans; less to pull from, even with the strongest of magic. They’d need her presence to reanimate.”

Robbie nodded. “Makes sense.”

“We also theorized,” James added, nibbling at his toast, “that Gull had possessed another person, one taller than our murdered John Doe, whose body he had Argo bury.”

“Only problem: She was a solitary lass whose mostly gone now, so we can’t prove any o’ that.” Robbie pulled heavily at his coffee. “So, nada on that front so far.”

“Won’t make Innocent happy.” James said begrudgingly.

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Robbie said gravely. “Last night, there were Shadows in me room, preying heavily on Morse.” He nodded in the ghost’s direction and Laura whipped around like a shot, her highlights turning a shocked purple color.

“My God! Are you okay?”

“I am in one piece, for the most part. I have Robbie to thank for that.” Morse sipped his beer. He still felt like death warmed over (ha!), but disclosing such information would only make Lewis worry. Besides, he was more than recovered enough to finish this case.

Lewis looked skeptical; Morse had still not repaired his visage completely. His clothes were tattered and torn, shirt untucked, jacket missing, hair a mess, scars and bruises littering his body, and a prominent limp. But he let sleeping dogs lie…for now. “So we have that to worry about. If Gull is rallying, he could come at any time.”

“I discovered Gull can create rifts. I assume this is how the Shadows are coming to this world.” Morse went on, shifting the topic away from his health. “It’s obvious to me that Gull has absorbed every migrant spirit that has entered my realm. as I am the other empathic spirit, he believes—quite correctly, I am sure—that absorbing myself into his being will result in him becoming an unstoppable force. A god, he called himself.”

“We can’t let that happen.” Laura looked back at James and Robbie. “So, what do we do?”

“Gull will have my scent.” Morse said. “Perhaps foolishly, I have led him here.”

“Then here we make our stand.” Robbie slammed his palm on the countertop. “Here, we fight.”


	29. Chapter the Twenty-Eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm...

Morse watched as James traced sigils in holy water on all the doors and windows in Robbie’s flat. Laura was drinking heavily-sugared tea and reading on the couch, and Robbie was doing the dishes and tidying up in that absent-minded way you do when other people are in your space. Except for the protective sigils, it could’ve been an ordinary afternoon.

“I’m sorry.” Morse said quietly, standing by Lewis at the sink. It was inaudible, so no one else could hear.

Robbie, not wanting to disturb James in his work, inclined his head to show Morse he was listening. 

Morse touched Robbie’s arm so he could feel the other man’s response. “This flat…it won’t be the same for you.” No response yet. “The Shadows will destroy all the comfort in this flat. Even when we overcome them.” There was no time for ‘ifs’, and he could feel that stirring in Robbie’s emotions. “I’m sorry. I know your home is important to you.” A dismissive note, an emptiness of feeling. No homey feelings to destroy, because none were felt. “You’ll be happier when you move in with them. That’ll be good for you, give you a chance to rebuild a sense of home.” Morse curled back into himself. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If only I had…if only I could’ve stopped Gull…”

Robbie turned abruptly to face him and grabbed his hand. Morse studied Lewis’ eyes as he read the man’s emotions: determination, pride, purpose. He wanted to do this, didn’t want Morse to face it alone. Morse pressed his other hand on top of Lewis’. “Thank you, Robbie.”

“Sir,” James said, interrupting their calm. Robbie pulled away from Morse to listen. “The sigils are set. Don’t know what good they’ll do, but they’re there just in case.”

“Might keep the residual feelings of despair, depression, and hopelessness out of the walls,” Morse spoke with disguised uncertainty. “I’d hate to think about what effects Gull’s distorted vengeance would leave on the living.”

“But not us?” Laura looked up from her book and turned on the couch towards the conversation. “Not on us, surely?”

Morse frowned. “I sincerely hope not. I can’t imagine what that does to a soul.”

“I can imagine what sorrow will do to a soul,” Robbie grunted, almost inaudibly; Morse looked away. “But nah, I think we’ll all be fine! Those feelings can’t get past love, anyway.” He wrapped an arm around James and reached out a hand for Laura. “We’ll win for good this time.”

“I hope so,” Laura said gravely, but as she got up to join in the hug, it was clear she was convinced by Robbie’s optimism. 

While the feeling was certainly catching, Morse wasn’t so sure. As day turned into night and the shadows in the back garden lengthened, a sense of dread and fear began to take hold of him, despite there being love around.

Gull was coming, and with him, the Shadows. All they could do was stand their ground, hope for the best.

Why did that seem so desolate?


	30. Chapter the Twenty-Ninth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hello, Gull." He said.

Around 11 in the evening, Laura started yawning. James had already been drifting in and out of consciousness for half an hour. Robbie turned to kiss her, squeezing her shoulder. “Go to bed, pet. I’ll stay up a while.”

“I’m taking James,” Laura teased, kissing him back.

“Aye. Be good for the lad to get some rest.”

Laura stood and stretched with a groan. She roused James, supporting the taller man against her side. “Wake me if anything happens. Really, Robbie. I don’t want you facing this on your own.”

“Same here,” James murmured in a sleepy register.

Robbie smiled and stood to hug them both. “Right. Just get on to bed, get your head down a few hours.” He pushed them off towards the bedroom and sat back down on the couch. 

“Very brave of you, Lewis.” Morse was seated on the counter, bathing under the electric light, eyes closed in rest. 

“Nah.” Robbie stretched. “They’re no good to me half asleep.”

“I did tell Val I underestimated you, but that is a gross understatement.”

Robbie turned sideways to face Morse. “Sir?”

“You are more than I ever imagined. Brave, considerate, intelligent, perceptive.”

“Oh, go on.”

“No, really.” Morse leaned forward, chin in his hands, a faint ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “I never gave you enough credit for being what you were.”

“Ye gave me plenty, sir. Wouldn’t be where I was without yeh.”

Morse chuckled drily. “You benefitted very little from my intervention.”

Robbie laughed. “Ye only want me teh feed yer ego.”

Morse raised an eyebrow. “Maybe so. You valued me so much?”

“Aye. Yeh know I did.”

Morse leaned back, resting his head against the cabinet doors. “Words like that mean all the world in these dark times.”

Robbie frowned. “T.S. Elliot?”

Morse laughed. “No. Endeavour Morse.”

“Poor sod.” Robbie yawned.

“Join your loved ones, Robbie.” Morse said fondly. “I’ll keep watch.”

“You need rest, too!”

“I have an entire afterlife to rest. Go.”

Robbie stood to obey, but hesitated. “I’m still the living inspector in the room.”

“But, in many ways, I am still your boss. Now, go.” Morse watched Lewis’ retreating back and then turned his head back towards the ceiling. 

The Shadows were slowly creeping in, seeping in through the cracks in the walls left from their onslaught before. Poor James had been too sleepy to see them. Soon, they would envelop the entire flat, leaving a variety of ways open for Gull and his mortal puppet to enter. There was hope to save the girl, Argo. That might be the only good thing to come out of this ugly mess.

If there was a God, He would’ve prevented this. 

Morse was reminded of what he’d told Robbie once: “I wish to God there was a higher power.” He would’ve only benefitted from it post-mortem.

The bolts on the door of the flat unlocked, James’ protective sigils eaten away by dark magic. The door creaked open, and light from the hallways briefly illuminated a silhouette before all was eaten by darkness. 

Morse stood and walked to greet the specter, a dark spirit that towered like a giant above the small human girl he had possessed. It had big red eyes, wild hair, and a toothed grin that would make any Cheshire Cat green with envy. The inspector stared into its face with the fearlessness that often possessed him when he had something worth protecting.

“Hello, Gull.” He said.


	31. Chapter the Thirtieth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final battle. Will Gull win? Or will our heroes triumph over the darkness of hatred and hell?

Gull turned his head with eerie slowness towards Morse. Maybe once he had been a human spirit, but now, he was something much darker, much more sinister, and infinitely more dangerous. He smiled a toothy, fanged grin. “My dear Morse. So nice to see you again.” The tinny voice of the girl clearly did not belong. Morse noticed that her frilly dress was dirty, hair unkempt, pastel tights torn at the knee. Obviously, Gull had no care for his vessel. The possession had, clearly, taken a physical toll. What she felt emotionally, who could say?

Morse gathered his strength and stood his ground. 

“Where are your friends, Morse?” Gull mocked, advancing slowly. “I know you have some now. Though, how could anyone stand you? You are certainly brilliant, but brilliance is loneliness. What a weight we do bear!” He laughed.

“They’re not here.” Morse lied, standing straighter. “I sent them away.”

“You are a terrible liar.” Gull smirked. “Do you think one can beat thousands?”

“Love will overcome.” Morse said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“Ha!” Gull threw back his head as he barked out a harsh laugh. “I once told you that I knew who you couldn’t save. I read your file, after all. Though, perhaps, I was wrong. Maybe the only person you can’t save is yourself.” The dogs nosed their way in around Argo’s thin legs, spreading like the rising tide across the tile floor of the kitchen, into the carpet of the living room. “And now is no different. You’ve failed, Morse. It’s over. And I’ll have you for my own.”

 

James awoke from sleep distinctly ill at ease. He had always been a light sleeper, partially because of his smoking habit, partially because of his psychic abilities. In a sleepy haze, he thought he heard a voice. Strange, because it sounded like a young girl. Had someone broken into the flat?

James sat up on his elbow and rubbed his eyes. Laura stirred beside him, but contentedly snuggled into Robbie, who was dead to the world, apparently. The sergeant peered at the light under the door. That wasn’t from any electrical appliance. And the pulsating purple liquid? He’d seen that before. 

James shook Laura hard. The pixie stirred and rolled over, running a tired hand through her hair. “…James?” She mumbled groggily. “’S three AM.”

“Help me wake Robbie,” James said, climbing out of bed. “I think we’ve got company.”

Laura felt a knot begin to form in the pit of her stomach. She grabbed Robbie’s shoulder, shaking hard. “Robbie? Robbie!”

James pulled on his trousers and leaned forward to pinch Robbie’s arm.

The older man started awake. “Ow! What d’ya think…?”

“Sir! Look!” James pointed at the night under the door.

Robbie listened, too. He heard a voice he’d only heard once, but knew to be their killer and the cause of their problems. “Gull!” Still mostly dressed, Robbie jumped out of bed and followed James to the door, Laura close behind them.

Gull tilted his head. “Do you hear? I was right; you were lying.”

Morse turned his head and saw the three peering out of the bedroom door. “Robbie!”

Gull took advantage of Morse’s distraction. One of the dogs, growling, jumped and tackled Morse to the ground. Sharp jaws attempted to bite and scratch as Morse shielded his face, a reflex even in death. As the Shadow hit its mark, chunks of spiritual flesh were torn away from Morse’s visage.

“Sir!” Robbie cried, feeling powerless. 

James reached for his saber. “Come on, Sir. You can tell me where they are.”

Robbie nodded, running out after his sergeant. He looked back at Laura. “No use tellin ye to stay put?”

“None at all, but it was a good try.” Laura followed them out. “Maybe my magic can help.”

Robbie pointed and James slashed. Morse rose to his feet and shielded them from another one of the leaping dogs. The energy from Morse’s shield was so strong, James could see it clearly.

“We’re cornered,” Morse rasped. “Out of options, nearly.”

“I’m not giving up!” Robbie insisted.

“I never expected you to.” Morse reinforced his shield. 

Laura sprinkled some pixie dust over Morse and worked on fixing his wounds. “But what do we do? James can’t see them, and Robbie doesn’t have a weapon.”

Robbie’s face brightened. “That’s it! Laura, your pixie dust will tell James where they are!” He stood straighter. “I’ll tell you where to sprinkle your dust and James will hit them! I can stay with him. Sir, you can shield Laura!”

“Excellent plan, Lewis! I couldn’t have done it better myself!” Morse praised. He collapsed his shield, following Laura as she ventured out, keeping an eye as the four split up.

“On your left!” Robbie cried. Laura flung pixie dust and Morse shielded her. While the dog was disoriented, James destroyed it.

“Right!”

“Behind you!”

In this way, they seemed to be winning. But Morse was far wiser. “It’s no use! They’ll keep respawning as long as Gull has control.”

“But he’s only here—” James slashed at a dog, “—because of her, right?”

“True.” Morse pushed Laura behind him and threw up a shield. “There has to be a way to weaken the connection.”

Robbie had an idea. He ran out from behind James and grabbed Morse’s wrist. The ghost was stunned, nearly thrown off his magic. “Lewis!” It was a well-remembered exclamation of frustration.

“Sir,” Robbie panted. “Do ye trust me?”

Morse could feel the burning power of passion through their contact. “Yes, I do.”

“I have an idea.”

“Let me hear it.”

“No time.” Robbie charged full speed at the motionless Argo, standing still as stone, discarded by Gull during the fight.

Morse understood now. He shielded them as Robbie charged through the Shadow warriors, the living man still clutching his wrist. 

“Now!” Robbie cried, and at the last second, they broke apart. Robbie pounced on Argo, knocking her to the floor. Gull’s control over the Shadows waivered just long enough to bring him down under Morse’s spiritual pressure.

Hands on Gull’s shoulders, straddling him, Morse felt more powerful than he ever had before. “You’re finished, Gull!” He growled. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

“No!” Gull struggled. “No, no, no! Shadows, I command you! Get him!”

“Oh, they’re not your dogs anymore.” Morse looked over his shoulder. The Shadows were once again cloaked humanoid figures. As the first claw punctured Gull’s chest, a rush of lost souls flew out of the wound. Disoriented and having nowhere to go, they flew into Morse.

Morse stood, feeling washed over with immense power as Gull was eaten by the Shadows, lost forever to the voids of hell. With powers only an empath could wield, Morse pressed his hands to his heart, tilted his head back, and released the spirits, freeing them from the prison Gull had made for them.

The last thing Morse remembered was hearing Robbie’s voice. Then, everything faded mercifully to black.


	32. Chapter the Thirty-First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's over. It's finally over.

Robbie got off of Argo and sat beside her, checking her pulse. It was there, but very faint, and Argo seemed limp. Well, it obviously took a lot of energy to support a ghost, and she was such a delicate little thing. Robbie noted that her clothes were dirty and torn, her face pale, eyes closed as if in deep sleep. He looked up as Laura knelt beside him and did some checks. “Well?”

“Clearly exhausted, and probably a bit malnourished, but alive. Thanks to you.” Laura took Robbie’s hand. 

James put away his blessed blade. “What about Morse, Sir?”

Robbie glanced over and saw Morse’s form floating suspended but not active. Clearly whatever had happened when all those souls rushed out of Gull’s visage had taken its toll on him. “Passed out, or at least as close to that as ghosts can get.” He looked briefly around his flat. Nothing seemed disturbed although, frankly, it didn’t feel the same as it had before. Too…sad and lonely somehow. “Better call 999 for her, James. And put some trousers on.” He stood up with a grunt, helping Laura up by habit.

James blushed, realizing that, yes, he was only in an undershirt and pants at the moment. “Yes, Sir.”

“And you might as well drop that when we’re alone. We share a bed now, for Christ’s sake.”

James smiled self-deprecatingly and dialed 999.

“What now?” Laura asked, standing closer to Robbie for comfort. The air in the flat seemed distinctly…not Robbie. Not being psychic, she couldn’t quite explain it. It was just a wrong feeling in her gut.

Robbie took her hand with a sigh. “Time to rouse the dead, and then we’d better get dressed, too. I can’t sleep here tonight.”

Laura peered at the kitchen clock, ticking over the mantle. “Not much more of ‘tonight’ to sleep through.”

“Still.” Robbie shivered. “This place…I can’t get over it, but it just feels…off, somehow. I’m probably missing something.”

“No, I feel it, too.” Laura confirmed, pulling away finally and giving Robbie a peck on the cheek. “My house? I’ve always wanted to host a sleepover.”

“Aye.” Robbie smiled. “Thanks, Laura.”

Laura walked off towards the bedroom. Deciding Morse could rest a little longer, Robbie followed.

“Paramedics are on their way,” James said, voice muffled in his chins as he did up his shirt buttons. Robbie sniffed and noted that both his lovers had made use of his deodorant. Ah, well. There wasn’t any sensible way to explain that to the ambulance men, but Robbie was getting too old to care about what random strangers thought about his love life. 

Robbie nodded, pulling on a shirt. He had just finished tying his tie when there was a knock at the door. He led the paramedic inside and explained in layman’s terms what had happened. After Robbie informed them that the young lady was under caution, he called the station and ordered a PC to watch her room. 

He turned to address Morse next. It seemed like Laura and James were consoling each other, talking in hushed tones and kissing. He shook his head, smiling, and shook Morse awake.

The ghost stirred and righted himself, rubbing his temple. “Damn my head.”

“Welcome back, Sir,” Robbie said drily. 

Morse smiled. “Thank you, Lewis.” He glanced over Robbie’s shoulder. “Ah, the girl has gone off to hospital, then. That’s good. They’ll be able to drain the ectoplasm out of her.”

“I wonder how…” Robbie teased, giggling as Morse went green. “Any idea when we can question her?”

“I’m not a doctor, Lewis.” Morse scolded. “Perhaps by morning, depending. The process of removing ectoplasm from the human body can be a long, arduous process. And Argo is a delicate thing.”

“Aye.” Robbie sighed. “I just want to get this case wrapped up.”

Morse touched Robbie’s shoulder and felt the tire of his friend. He gingerly pulsed some good feelings into Lewis’ veins before pulling back and watched the light return in his old friend’s eyes. He didn’t expect Robbie to acknowledge what he’d done; the magic of an empath is often subtle, his ways unnoticeable. “I understand that.” He finally replied. “It’s been a bloody awful business all around.”

Robbie smiled; Morse had borrowed words Strange had often used back in the day. “We’re all going to Laura’s for the night.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“Where will you be, Sir?”

Morse watched worry flash across Robbie’s eyes and smiled. “Home, Lewis. Without Gull in the Realm, I’ll be able to get some proper rest.”

Robbie smiled. “You deserve it, Sir.”

“As do you.” Morse clapped a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “I’ll probably pop in for the questioning; I’m interested in Argo.”

“Always for a pretty face. Aye.”

“But until then, you know how to reach me.”

The cool hand drifted off his shoulder and Robbie watched Morse go until his living lovers appeared.

“Robbie?” James asked tentatively, the word strange on his tongue.

“C’mon, canny lad and me bonnie lass. Let’s go.”


	33. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have forgotten what it is to smile, in your too busy life. Come, rest awhile.

As predicted, the trial went as well as it possibly could. No jury would put a girl as young as Argo Merina to death, even for a heinous crime like necromancy.

For Robbie, the verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity came as a relief. Several things about Argo’s past pulled on his heartstrings. Mother dead in a car crash, father of suicide left Argo the mistress of a large estate. Like the worst of bad luck, both her beloved pets had died. True, even the tame voodoo necromancy was a crime worthy of conviction, but Argo’s money had bought a good defense lawyer.

James knocked his shoulder gently as they left the courtroom. “Happy, Sir?”

“As happy as I can be.” Robbie thought of the young girl, dressed in a strange-looking business suit that clearly made her feel uncomfortable, standing in the docket, being questioned by a tenacious bulldog of a prosecuter. “Little lass may not see the light of day again, but at least she’ll live to breathe another day.” And if a kitten ended up on her doorstep, well, that would only be fate, wouldn’t it?

James smirked. “Come on, Sir. Mental institutions in Oxford are as cushy as it comes. She’ll be allowed out on the grass as many times as her heart desires.”

“Yeah,” Robbie sighed. “Well, let’s get home and see Laura, eh?”

James smiled. As they entered the car park, he shyly took his superior’s hand.

 

"Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray  
In glimmering valleys, cool and far away. 

Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street,  
And listen to the music, faint and sweet, 

That echoes ever to a listening ear,  
Unheard by those who will not pause to hear¬ 

The wayward chimes of memory's pensive bells,  
Wind-blown o'er misty hills and curtained dells. 

One step aside and dewy buds unclose  
The sweetness of the violet and the rose; 

Song and romance still linger in the green,  
Emblossomed ways by you so seldom seen, 

And near at hand, would you but see them, lie  
All lovely things beloved in days gone by. 

You have forgotten what it is to smile  
In your too busy life

Come, rest awhile."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem is by Lucy Maud Montgomery called "Come, Rest Awhile"
> 
> Thank you all to my gracious supporters! Special thanks to Butter, my first reader and reviewer, and consultant on all things Italian and Morseverse alike. 
> 
> Thank you all for thinking I portray polyamory well. As someone who is, at best, demi-romantic, that is highest praise.
> 
> Thanks also to athena_crikey for first imagining Oxford in a world of the supernatural. May you live to always write more.
> 
> There is a sequel coming soon, dear mateys! Be on the lookout for new content! And don't forget to lave kudos and comments! It really makes my day!
> 
> -Morse_sChild


End file.
